


Breaker of Chains

by Umerue



Series: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Roshan Lavellan [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Dragons, Drama & Romance, Elvhenan, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falon'Din's special ops, Forgotten Ones (Dragon Age), Gen, Love Triangles, Miscarriage, Not Beta Read, Politics, Pre-Rebellion Story, Slavery, Social Justice, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 150,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umerue/pseuds/Umerue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a war against Nameless Ones on the western front, but life in Elvhenan is glorious. At least if you are a free citizen, a noble, or one of the Evanuris. Less so if you happen to be one of the slaves caught in border disputes between the gods. </p><p>An unexpected attachment combined with a personal tragedy opens Dirthamen's eyes to see another side of well-working policies he has implemented throughout Elvhenan. Slavery is not so convenient when the woman you love is property of another, and a disparaging relationship between an Evanuris and a slave is a secret he has to keep hidden for both their sakes.</p><p>Determined to find a way to free his lover, Dirthamen gives a task to a new commander recently appointed by Mythal. Keep Lavellan alive, win the war, and learn everything you can about slavery.</p><p>The new commander is called Solas.</p><p>--<br/>This story can be read as independent. I tagged this to series because it features Roshan Lavellan and being Falon'Din's slave in Ancient Elvhenan *is* Unfortunate Event. The blood pool is always running low...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dirthamen's secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [felines_and_flowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felines_and_flowers/gifts).



> This story was inspired by comment felines_and_flowers left on "No rest for the Wicked" which also features Roshan Lavellan and Dirthamen. She asked: "If the dating curse weren't a thing and circumstances were different (no cool puzzles for dirthamen to solve), do you think Roshan and Dirthamen still would have found each other and fallen for one another or would they have passed each other right by as if he were Just one of the evanuris and she was just some girl?"
> 
> This is that story. 
> 
> Few words before we start. There are few differences to characters you may already know. Dirthamen is much more an Evanuris here, mostly because he is at height of his power and has never suffered defeat or much of anything negative, yet. He is still a king of his castle without the beneficial effect thousand years of imprisonment has on his character, and Falon'Din is (as always) even more so. Basically we're speaking about that kind of Evanuris who will eventually push Solas into his rebellion.
> 
> I wasn't supposed to start writing a new enormously long story (I was supposed to finish last four chapters of Wicked but I got distracted), so this story will likely update not very often, but with huge chapters. Click the subscribe button to stay aboard.

He would always remember the first time he saw her in Falon’Din’s temple.

\--

When Dirthamen arrived through eluvian to visit his brother, there was something odd in Falon’Din’s temple. The metallic smell of blood was mixed with something which did not belong there. Food, freshly cooked. Hearth cakes, Dirthamen thought, and stew. The scent was coming from same direction as his brother’s furious shouting.  
“How dare you desecrate my temple, you idiot?” Falon’Din yelled. His words were followed by a loud crashing sound. “This is a holy site of death and magic, and you made it smell like a slave hut!”  
“I thought my lord would benefit from eating.” a woman’s voice replied.  
“Eating? Like a peasant? It is not your position to think what I might benefit from!” Falon’Din hissed and magic crackled again, followed by screaming.

When Dirthamen entered the room, there was a ruined feast on a table, and Falon’Din was looming over a slave who was bleeding all over the floor.  
“Brother.”, Falon’Din acknowledged him as he turned and stepped on woman’s hand with sickening crush. “Slaves! Take this mess away and get rid of the smell.”  
Dirthamen considered the selection in front of him. Stew was thrown over the floor, and most of the dishes were full of broken pieces of glass or porcelain, but the hearth cakes were intact. Carefully, he took a slice from the table and carefully checked it for poisons or enchantments. Then he bit down.

Closing his eyes, he felt the exquisite flavour spreading in his mouth. It was a perfect mixture of sugar, halla butter and flour from northern part of Falon’Din’s realm where sun shone longest. The piece of cake was soft enough to melt in his mouth, and he took another bite. Quietly, Dirthamen finished the slice and reached for second, but it was ruined by morsels of glass. His mouth twisted in displeasure behind the shadowy glamour which hid his face.  
“Do you have more of these? Without glass?” he asked from Falon’Din.  
Falon’Din looked at the slave, who knelt on the floor, holding her ruined hands on her lap. Tears were running along her face, but she made no sound.  
“You heard him. Do I have more of your unwanted offerings?”  
The slave pushed herself on her feet with sheer stubbornness despite her injuries and replied sullenly:  
“I had a dough for next patch prepared, my lord.”  
“What are you waiting for, then?” Falon’Din demanded. “Get them this instant. But make sure the smell stays wherever you make them.”  
The slave limped past him, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. She stopped in front of Dirthamen and addressed him:  
“I wish to know if you are as opposed to tea as my lord is. Properly made tea compliments the flavour of cakes, and they should be served together. Otherwise it isn’t any good.”  
She was a brave one, Dirthamen thought amusedly. Making personal questions to Keeper of Secrets to defend her art. He knew an artist when he saw one.  
“It depends.” he replied. “I dislike tea turned bitter.”  
The woman simply nodded and limped away as the rest of Falon’Din’s slaves began to clean the mess. Half an hour later one of Falon’Din’s servants delivered a plate filled with hearth cakes and a teapot, wrapped in a spell to keep the scent contained. As Dirthamen began to eat, the flavours melted together harmoniously, and the tea was perfect. He finished the cakes as he listened Falon’Din talking, down to last crumble, and licked his fingers clean from sugar. Then he forgot all about her.

\--

Second time they met was years later. Dirthamen’s head was throbbing as he wandered along the corridors of Falon’Din’s temple. Having sex with Sylaise at Falon’Din’s party had been a grave mistake. His back was tender because she had dug her nails in his shoulders, and he would have to spend next centuries dodging her dinner invitations. Even though he enjoyed good food, dining at Sylaise's table was not worth of mental and physical hangover which inevitably followed.

He needed fresh air. Or a hangover cure. Dirthamen pushed open a random door, looking for a way out, and stumbled into something unexpected. It was a small kitchen, and a woman was cleaning out the dishes from the table. She had a dark red hair, slightly wavy, and then he remembered.  
“Tea.”, he croaked.  
“Oh.”, she said, sounding surprised. “I’ll fix you a cup.”  
“A pot.”, Dirthamen requested as he slumped down, holding his head with both hands.  
He waited with his eyes closed until he heard a sound of something being put on the table.  
"This first.” the slave said as she placed a glass in front of him. There was something wrong with her hands, he noticed. The joints were swollen. But Dirthamen was more interested in suspicious green liquid she was offering.  
"A hangover cure. It never fails. If I only could make it taste good.” she remarked and drew a water rune on teapot, then a fire rune as she began to measure the leaves with shaking hands.  
Dirthamen studied the foul-smelling substance suspiciously. It didn't seem to have any harmful components and the thought of Falon'Din's slave poisoning him was just stupid. Besides, his mouth already tasted like a dead critter. Making up his mind, he emptied the glass and almost vomited for the taste. He was just going to give a piece of his mind to slave, when suddenly a blessed absence of pain spread from his head to his limbs, driving away the exhaustion and throbbing sensation. It felt... Actually, it felt very good.  
"I told you so.", the slave said. "I would have a fortune if it didn't taste so bad."  
Deciding he was too tired to remind her of proper way to address an Evanuris - she wasn't his slave, so lack of discipline wasn't his problem - , Dirthamen gave in to his curiosity.  
"How did you come up with this?"  
"I had to make myself useful somehow, and since my lord does not eat and I'm no longer capable of hauling dead bodies or holding a weapon--", she explained.  
Dirthamen nodded absently. Not with those hands. The bones in her both hands had been methodically broken, and then healed wrong.  
"-- I had to think of something which would keep me off the list next time he decides the lake of blood is getting too shallow.", she said as she placed a steaming pot of tea in front of him.  
"Would you give the secret to me?” he asked.  
"It would likely cost me my life.” she met his gaze fearlessly. "But I can make you a sandwich."

He ate the sandwich, and it was very good. Even though his back was still sore, it started to feel like that this day might not be complete loss at all.  
“Do you know if Sylaise has left yet?” he asked from the woman.  
“As far as I know, she is still here in the temple, in the grand hall.”  
Dirthamen bit his tongue. The eluvian was next to grand hall. There was no way to sneak past Sylaise, not without magic, and getting caught sneaking under a spell would have been ridiculous.  
The woman was watching her with strange understanding in her eyes.  
“If you wish—if you don’t take offense, there is another way to leave the temple. There is a shortcut to nearest village with eluvian. I could take you there. Peasants bring supplies for my lord’s temple using the path, and it is not far away.”  
Dirthamen raised his gaze, and a genuine smile spread on his face.  
“I think I would like that.” he decided.

The journey through a forest was quiet, and the weather was fine. The woman had taken a basket to carry, piling some glass jars inside before they left through a back door. Her hands were shaking badly as she gripped the handle. Dirthamen watched it for a time, waiting if her grip was going to fail already. But she bit her lip and continued, not betraying the obvious pain with a single word as she chatted about the village and routes available through communal eluvian situated there.  
“Stop.” he finally said.  
The woman turned, her expression suddenly nervous.  
“I’m sorry.” she said, taking a step back. “I’ll be quiet.”  
“No.”, Dirthamen shook his head. “Put the basket down and give me your hands.”  
She did as she was told, and her hands were shaking worse than before when she carefully placed them on his. Dirthamen studied them carefully, following the broken lines with his thumb. He felt her flinch when he carefully brushed a joint.  
“How can you do anything with hands like these?” he asked, frowning.  
“There is no other option, so I have to keep trying.” she said, a suffocated reply between a cry and a dry chuckle. “It was a punishment from my lord. I made a miscalculation when I first arrived.”  
“I remember.” he replied. It was likely that healers in Falon’Din’s service had not dared to fix the problem. Making up his mind, Dirthamen focused and imagined the ruined bones as whole and strong, every muscle and joint as they should have been. He released his will, and felt her flinch. But the pain was over in a moment.  
“Much better.” Dirthamen said, feeling pleased for a task well done. He looked up and saw tears in her eyes. She had blue eyes, he noted.  
“Thank you.” she said in choked voice, and smiled through her tears.

\--

 

It became a habit for him to stagger through the corridors of Falon’Din’s temple in search for her every time his brother flung a party. It was not advisable to suffer when there was a hangover cure to be had, and Dirthamen liked the kitchen better than most of the other rooms in Falon’Din’s temple. It smelled better, and he felt welcome there. After he had healed her hands, she always greeted him with a smile, and fixed him something to eat.

She still lacked a proper respect towards an Evanuris, but Dirthamen found that he didn’t truly mind. He learned that she was originally from one of villages Falon’Din had conquered from June in a border dispute three centuries ago, and part of a war settlement June had to offer.  
“The elders of my village called for volunteers, and I offered to go.” she explained as she cut a fish in thin slices. “I served in a war against Forgotten Ones for a time. When our lord decided to pull my regiment out, we were relocated here decade ago.”  
“What were you?” Dirthamen asked. “A scryer?”  
She shook her head, clearly amused at the idea.  
“I have never been any good at divination.”  
“A necromancer?” Dirthamen suggested. “You had to have a position to follow my brother here.”  
“I trained as Unfallen.” she replied.  
His eyes widened a bit, but he masked his surprise quickly. Unfallen ones were Falon’Din’s special troops, the ones in front lines. The common folk thought they were immortal against most grievous physical injuries, and it was true, in a way. But their extended life was purchased by the blood poured in Falon’Din’s lakes and fountains, a life force stolen from another to keep them going. They were used only when there was a goal which his brother felt had to be attained, no matter the cost. Lately there had been more of those, Dirthamen recalled with unpleasant feeling.  
“I wouldn’t think that my brother would let a trained Unfallen to work in a kitchen in current circumstances.” he said instead.  
“My lord has commanded me to stay out of his sight.” she said lightly. “And so I obey.”  
A mischievous glimmer appeared in her eyes.  
“I also imagine that nobody has told him that my hands aren’t as useless as before. His favoured ones don’t come here either, because eating is considered unfashionable.”  
“It might not be wise to keep secrets from my brother.” he warned, but there was no ire in his voice. Only amusement. This little secret of disobedience amused him. Maybe it was the spark of mischievousness which made her beautiful. Lively.  
“I’m not keeping secrets. I would tell him the moment he ordered me to appear before him.” she said with fake virtuosity. “So far, it hasn’t happened. What a pity.”  
“Your heart must be broken.” Dirthamen suggested.  
“Absolutely.” she nodded with a glee. “But since I’m in no position to do anything about it, would you like to have some whipped strawberry sorbet with flowers? I have a new recipe I would like to test, but nobody wants to help me out because it would actually require them to eat…”

\--

Dirthamen wasn’t quite sure how she persuaded him to do this, but he liked to tell himself it was because her arguments were sound. Sometimes he wanted to eat even if he wasn’t at Falon’Din’s, and it would be sensible to know how to make something for himself. Yes. Sound arguments. This thing, these cooking lessons, had nothing to do with the fact that her smile was lovely and bright, and he found himself very taken with her independent streak. It skirted perilously close to disrespect at times, but it was never malevolent, and when she laughed, a dimple appeared on the left side of her face. He wanted to kiss it.  
“Focus!” she commanded him. “You are burning the tomato sauce!”  
He wanted to kiss all of her, trail his lips from the nape of her neck until he reached the ugly collar of her tunic. The fabric was rough against her skin, he imagined. She was not a favoured follower. If she were his, he would give her only the softest of silks, a layer upon layer of all the different shades--  
“Dirthamen. The sauce!” she insisted, taking his hand to stir the pot.  
“You called me by name.” his attention was taken by something far more interesting than sauce.  
A frightened look flashed in her eyes, and she let go of his hand instantly. She looked down.  
“I’m sorry, I forgot myself.” she muttered.  
This would not do. She was no longer smiling, and the dimple was gone. He had to fix it.  
“You can call me by name. I’d like that. If you told me yours.” he said quickly.  
“You would?” she asked, looking up.  
“It’s getting tedious to address you as ‘the woman who lives in my brother’s kitchen’ every time I think of you.” Dirthamen told honestly. “I’d like to know your name so I could call you right.”  
Her smile was soft, almost shy.  
“The village I came from was Lavellan, so people call me that. But my mother named me Roshan.”  
“Roshan.” he tasted the name. “It suits you well.”

The tomato sauce was slightly burned, but she declared it edible and good enough for his first attempt. They took the food outside, where was a bench set against the kitchen wall. Falon’Din’s party was still going on by the sounds of it, but they were mercifully muffled not to disturb too much.  
“You could learn this, if you focused better.” she said, tasting the sweet and salty concoction.  
“I was distracted.” Dirthamen said. He was getting distracted again, because there was a small stain of red sauce on the corner of her mouth, and he wanted to lick it off.  
She blew on her plate, looking at him with twinkling eyes.  
“I fear for the fate of Elvhenan if you are distracted by contents of my lord’s kitchen.” she said.  
“It’s not the kitchen.” he said, deciding he had to press his suit before her prophecy became true. “It’s you. You are terribly distracting.”  
“How so?” she asked.  
“There is sauce on the corner of your mouth.” Dirthamen told her.  
Consciously, she raised her sleeve to wipe it off, but he stopped her.  
“Let me.”, he said. Putting his plate down, he leaned towards her, and pressed his lips lightly on the corner of her mouth. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and her eyes were closed. Her skin was soft and warm as he opened his mouth and licked the stain away. It was gone too quickly, and he waited, the anticipation building in his stomach. The issue of consent was complicated enough as it was, given the difference of their positions, and the thought of doing this in the wrong way made him anxious.  
“You are terribly distracting as well. It’s a good thing nobody actually needs me here.” Roshan muttered, her breath warm against his skin. She opened her eyes, looking at him, and moved her mouth an inch to right. It was enough for her lips to meet his, and that shy touch was all the encouragement he needed.

\--

The infatuation didn’t get better after he had her. In Dirthamen’s experience, having whatever he desired usually satisfied the need and let him focus on more pressing matters. But this thing with Roshan didn’t seem to follow the usual rules. A romp in a kitchen garden, with untrained virgin who lacked the necessary experience to pay attention to maximising his pleasure should not have affected him so. But whenever he thought of her, those things, _the facts_ , didn’t cross his mind at all. He remembered the colour of her hair contrasting with the dark ground, thinking it was like flame in the night. He could recall the feel of her kisses, her touches turning from tentative and needlessly light to ones which set his blood on fire as she gained confidence. It was not that she lacked the knowledge – it was just that Falon’Din did not like other people touching what was his. Dirthamen had kissed her tears away, wanting to leave her with a memory of pleasure instead of pain. The memory of her coming undone in his hands was vibrant enough to earn him a very uncomfortable erection so he tried not to think of it. At least not in public. In private, he dwelled in it, shamelessly.

He found himself thinking of her in the most inopportune situations, and most times, he didn’t even notice it before someone called him out. Like today.  
“Dirthamen?” his mother repeated, and he blinked. Oh, the war council.  
“Yes?” he asked tentatively, hoping to salvage the situation. He had tuned out in a middle of Andruil’s rant about allowing ascendancy to Ghilan’nain, a boring subject which crept up every century or so.  
“Clearly, he doesn’t have any idea what we were talking about.” June remarked.  
Dirthamen ignored him, focusing on mother.  
“I was asking if you have any new information from the western front.”, Mythal repeated.  
“I do.”, he said, cursing himself inwardly from his slip. He shuffled his reports and found the right one mercifully quick. Starting to read from page one, he found a few bits of information prone to spark a heated discussion to withdraw attention from his momentarily lack of focus.

After goading his brethren into argument about best way to proceed, Dirthamen leaned back in his chair. As he had expected, Andruil was arguing with Falon’Din about the best way to proceed, and Elgar’nan’s jaw tightened with each insult thrown. His father did not appreciate inefficiency. Speaking of inefficiency, Dirthamen reminded himself that he should add a line in his latest bill to Falon’Din. The matter was crude, not romantic, and not something he wanted to take up with Roshan, but according to laws of Elvhenan he had taken his brother’s property, and a tribute had to be made. The resource allocation between Dirthamen and Falon’Din had always been far more fluid than with other Evanuris. What was his was Falon’Din’s and vice versa, as long as the request was reasonable, so he did not need to ask for permission or negotiate. Still, it was for her own protection if he paid the standard compensation to his brother. Falon’Din did not appreciate stealing, and a slave making her own choice about taking a lover was technically stealing what was Falon’Din’s, a clearly suicidal act. On other hand, a slave did not have much choice refusing an Evanuris, so she would not be blamed even if the matter ever rose to Falon’Din’s attention and there was paperwork to back her claim up.

Ugh. Dirthamen banished the annoying line of thought. But deep in his heart, he wondered why a simple, reasonable gesture sat so ill with him, even though he had done it several times before when required. Maybe he had worked too much. Yes. It had to be that. Some relaxation was in order. He could visit one of his Arlathan estates for leisure. Maybe read a book, just for fun. Or maybe--  
“Dirthamen. My followers are preparing a feast to celebrate the success of the council, if you are interested.” Sylaise whispered from his right as the discussion drew to an end. Or, to be exact, Falon’Din left the chamber slamming the doors.  
“Unfortunately, there is somewhere else I need to be.” he replied without thinking, and followed his brother. He would calm down Falon’Din and then make his way to kitchen.

\--

 

“You should think of getting yourself a room instead of sleeping on a bench in the kitchen.” Dirthamen noted as he picked leaves out of her hair. They laid in a shadow of a blackcurrant bush in Falon’Din’s kitchen garden. Dirthamen strongly suspected his brother did not know he had a kitchen garden. If Falon’Din knew, he would have burned it on the ground for sheer embarrassment of owning something so mundane, and Dirthamen didn’t want that.  
“Why?” Roshan asked.  
“When the autumn and the rains come, we’ll be covered in mud.”  
“You said the same thing last year, and it worked out just fine.” she remarked, stretching her arm over his chest. Dirthamen caught her fingers between his, holding her hand in his. It felt nice.  
“It would be more comfortable if you had actual bed. My servants started to give me odd looks when I kept leaving muddy clothes for them to wash.”  
“What did you do?” she asked lazily.  
“Started a rumour about Nameless Ones and some obscure spy mission.” he admitted, stroking her bare back.  
Roshan chuckled, making him feel mellow and warm inside.  
“Then it’s all right. You can invent something again, and it will only add to your reputation.” she decided. “People will come up wilder explanations than you ever could.”  
“That is true.” Dirthamen said. “Come closer. I’m getting cold and you are warm.”  
“Will you tell me the most ridiculous theories again?” she asked as she rolled on top of him.  
“I can offer you a trade. A very advantageous deal, just for you. A rumour for a kiss.” he suggested, slipping his hand in her hair.  
She shook her head in gentle mockery.  
“No wonder we are told not to talk with outsiders.”  
Dirthamen frowned. This was new information.  
“You are?” he asked carefully.  
“One of the new rules my lord established last spring. Things have changed around here. There is talk about deploying the Unfallen, and the Chosen give us potions to ‘strengthen us’.” she said, looking uneasy. “It’s said that our lord is not satisfied with current political situation, and--”  
Her courage faltered, and she licked her lips, looking nervous.  
“I’m sorry.” Roshan said in small voice. “I don’t think I can say more.”  
“You don’t have to.” Dirthamen pulled her closer, his mind working furiously. It was true that Falon’Din had been growing increasingly unhappy with Andruil, and his need to be recognized as the strongest of the Evanuris was shaping up to be something more dangerous than idle childhood dream of surpassing their father. But deploying the Unfallen after latest peace treaty Mythal had negotiated between Falon’Din and Elgar’nan… No duel between champions would settle that. This could be dangerous.  
“What about you?” he asked, an unwelcome thought filling his mind with worry. The number of blood sacrifices tended to go up when Falon’Din was unhappy, and if he was going to call on the Unfallen…  
“I’m fine.” Roshan said. “Most of higher-ups don’t remember that I exist at all. I’ve laid low for years. The low-ranking servants like me. I keep them away from trouble when I can. Pull rank when I have to, offer protection when things get rough. And I still have the hangover cure if everything else fails.”  
Dirthamen did not feel as assured as he once would have. It was true that the no slave held any guarantees against his owner, and Falon’Din’s people commonly had less than those belonging to others. Intellectually, Roshan’s position was reasonably safe, but…  
“And if it fails, too?” he asked.  
“Then it fails and I die.” she said simply.  
Dirthamen had no words to answer. He just wrapped his arms around her tighter. He looked past the shadows of bushes and trees, to the sky, and wondered what he would do if she was not there next time he walked the path from village to Falon’Din’s back door.

\--

Andruil won a great victory in the western front, and for that, her demand about Ghilan’nain’s ascension was finally met. It was as much Andruil’s party as Ghilan’nain’s because she had been going on about it over five hundred years. A great feast was held, and the Evanuris gathered to recognize their new sister, all except Falon’Din.

His disappearance was noticed by everyone, but not spoken out loud. The unease was like a coiled snake hiding in the grass, just waiting under the surface of celebration. Dirthamen felt it keenly. He had played a large role providing the information for Andruil’s people, and it had been some time since he had last seen his brother. There had been no news of unrest in Falon’Din’s realm, even though Dirthamen had told his spies to keep eye on the area.  
“Are you planning to stay for long, my son?” her mother asked.  
“I haven’t decided yet.” Dirthamen replied noncommittedly.  
“My presence here is required, while you have more freedom. I would appreciate if you visited your brother, to see what kind of trouble has befallen on him since he is not here tonight.” Mythal suggested.  
“Yes.” Dirthamen nodded. “It would be best someone was to check on my brother. Maybe he is simply a bit late. I’m eager to see him: we had no chance to speak after I was sent to west in last meeting of the council.”  
“I will send a messenger to your house. I hope to hear the news of your brother’s wellbeing soon.” Mythal said and moved to speak with a lesser noble from eastern part of her realm.

 

When Dirthamen arrived to Falon’Din’s temple, he instantly knew something was wrong. The guardsmen standing by eluvian were betraying no emotion, but the little boy sent to escort Dirthamen to Falon’Din was clearly upset.  
“This way, honoured one.” the child said, swallowing his tears.  
“Where are all others?” Dirthamen asked, noticing the corridors of Falon’Din’s temple were unusually empty.  
“I beg your forgiveness for not being able to provide someone more experienced to serve you, but many of the older servants have given their lives in service of our lord today, and the ranks are still in disarray.”  
Dirthamen felt a spark of pity watching the boy who tried very hard not to cry.  
“The purge is still on?” he asked calmly.  
“Yes, honoured one.” the child whispered.  
“You know where the kitchen is? I command you to go there. You are to tell Roshan that I require-“, Dirthamen tried to think of something ridiculously difficult which would take hours to make “a slowly broiled cetus in a cream sauce made from whipped griffon eggs and golden flower petals. Stay there with her and wait until the meal is finished. Then bring it to me.”  
The boy sniffed, and tears started to run along his face in earnest.  
“I will try to provide what you request, honoured one, but I’m not very good cook, and my lord is very angry at Lavellan. It is said that she has done something wrong, and Chosen Mathras told us that we must find someone else to feed us now.”  
Dirthamen felt suddenly very cold.  
“How long ago?” he asked.  
“My lord summoned her an hour ago. She was still screaming when I passed the room on my way to eluvian chamber.” the boy said miserably.  
“Take me to my brother.”

Dirthamen was mentally prepared for the same scene as when he first met Roshan. He had seen his share of broken people. His brother preferred physical means to exert his authority, while Dirthamen used cleaner methods. Mental manipulation meant less blood to scrub off floors and for some reason, the frightening aspect was even stronger. As result, he had very little trouble with his own slaves.

But when the boy knocked on the door and pushed it open for Dirthamen to walk through, he found he wasn’t ready after all. He didn’t want to be. He felt cold and sick and anxiety ran through his veins, and the emotion only strengthened when he smelled the strong metallic scent of blood in the room. There were wide traces of red swept across the floor and… it looked like some kind of tissue, there, but he couldn’t tell what exactly. Dirthamen kept his face carefully neutral as he circled the widest puddle, not to ruin his shoes.  
“This is your last chance, slave. Tell me the name of the thief.” Falon’Din snarled.  
“I will not.” her voice was barely more than a whisper. There was a bloody handprint on her cheek, and her eyes were almost swollen shut. Her skin, which had always been pale, was taking bluish tint and there was alarming amount of blood on the floor around her. From waist down, she was drenched with it.  
“We missed you today, brother.” Dirthamen spoke out loud. He felt something new and terrible squeezing his heart painfully. He did not want to look at her ruined body, but he found he couldn’t look away either. When Roshan heard his voice, her eyes closed, and she let her head rest against the floor. It was like she had given up.  
“I had other things to do.”, Falon’Din informed him. “Brother. This slave refuses to give up a name I need, and I will not suffer disobedience in my ranks. Get it out from her.”  
She laid there very quietly, barely breathing.  
“It is always easier if you can impart some information on what I need to search for. Especially when the target is already as damaged as this one.” Dirthamen heard the clinical words coming off his mouth like someone else had spoken them. He didn’t understand what was happening. The words were right, but the feeling waking inside him was... It felt like hatred, and he did not hate Falon’Din. They were brothers.  
“This one is a snake on my bosom. One of my Chosen brought the issue to my attention today when I was filling the pool, and by stars, I can’t believe someone would dare! In my own temple! One of my Unfallen!” bright spots of anger burned on Falon’Din’s face, and he kicked her.  
There was a dull thump, but she did not move. Dirthamen felt sick. He wasn’t certain if she was alive, or conscious anymore.  
“Facts, brother.” he said, kneeling down on one knee. Carefully, he cupped her chin in his hand, casting a minor spell for healing and pain. Dirthamen felt Falon’Din’s displeasure as his brother identified the spell and noted in calm voice:  
“She needs some presence of mind if I’m to look for answers, brother.”  
“Like I said, this slave was one of my Unfallen. She displeased me years ago and was disciplined for it. I had planned to barter her off to Learned Fenjosian – you know that old creeper near Sylaise’s border – in exchange for an oath of fealty. But when I sent Mathras to fix her hands, he found out that she had not only healed the punishment I had given to her without permission, but she had also taken a lover, making her useless to barter for Sylaise’s purist faction like I originally planned. Fenjosian doesn’t take used ones, and all my female slaves are on fertility potions to produce more troops.”  
“How do you know that? It could be just your Chosen trying to fling the blame towards someone else.” Dirthamen pointed out.  
“It was obvious. When Mathras brought her here and stripped the robe off, she was round with someone’s brat.” Falon’Din spat. “I need name, brother.”  
“How far along?” Dirthamen asked. The odd, burning feeling inside him intensified.  
“What does it matter?”  
“At this point, it does not.” Dirthamen said. He stood up, looking at Falon’Din.  
“Your Chosen. Mathras. He has displeased both of us, brother.” Dirthamen stated angrily. “A devoted servant would have checked the records.”  
“What do you mean?” Falon’Din asked shrewdly.  
Dirthamen raised his chin high, looking Falon’Din in the eye. He needed to play this carefully so he would not provoke his brother’s jealousy.  
“I think I remember this slave. I believe there should be a mention in your financial records for compensation my treasurer paid for you for her virginity. Seven, eight years ago? Maybe ten? I can’t quite recall when it was, but she already lived here by then.” the arrogant lies flowed from his mouth, burning on his tongue.  
“When were you here last? Five, six months ago?” Falon’Din’s eyes narrowed. “Last autumn, wasn’t it? But why didn’t she say anything?”  
“What would have been the use? It was clear that your Chosen had set her up, and you would have only gotten angrier because she had no way to prove I had her for second time.”, Dirthamen shrugged. “You know I don’t care to advertise every casual fuck I have. It is uncouth for a slave to claim a thing like that, and since her rank was low, she likely didn’t know what was in those potions your Chosen gave to her and others.”  
“That is true.” Falon’Din admitted.  
“Children of a slave are property of slave’s owner, naturally, but I would expect something better than spilling _our_ blood on the floor like this.” Dirthamen crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the mess on the floor with disgust. The emotion was not hard to summon.  
“You should discipline your Chosen instead.” Dirthamen said. “Someone should fix her up, too, and send to my room when she is not injured anymore. Andruil’s party was tedious, and mother asked after you. There are actual, important things we must discuss, but I will give you time to settle your domestic affairs first. We may speak again tomorrow, when you are done with this.”  
He spared no glance at Roshan when he walked out, and his heart ached the whole way to splendid room Falon’Din kept for his visits.

 

Falon’Din’s servants brought Roshan to his chambers some hours later. She was freshly healed and bathed and dressed in simple white dress. Her hair was still a bit moist and much shorter than he remembered. It was likely that someone had found clotted blood too hard to get out in a hurry, and decided to cut it off instead. Dirthamen told the servants to leave and then renewed the wards.

“Why you didn’t tell them, gaidhalas?” Dirthamen asked as they laid on a luxurious bed grown from a living tree. The endearment slipped from his mouth without thinking, but he didn’t want to think. She was here, with him and safe for a moment. Dirthamen would not allow his mind to wander any further.  
“I didn’t want to.” Roshan said.  
“Why?” he asked again. He needed to understand. “You could have saved your child.”  
She looked at him, and her blue eyes sparkled in barely suppressed rage. Dirthamen had never seen such anger in her.  
“I will never bear any children who are born slaves. It’s kinder fate for them to die.” Roshan said fiercely. “I provoked your brother on purpose. I wanted him to hurt me badly enough, because if it ended now, it would hurt me less than seeing my child bartered off to some highborn idiot or sacrificed when the blood pool gets too low or mangled simply because she tried to offer food to a person, like normal people do.”  
Her voice was hoarse with unshed tears as she continued bitterly:  
“I didn’t even know what the damned potion was for, not before people in the slave quarters started getting symptoms. I was an apprentice for a Keeper before our village was given to Falon’Din, so I knew. But I could not do anything to myself, because my village would have suffered for my actions. I don’t know who came up with a twisted idea of allocating communal supplies based on the behaviour of slaves originating from the area, but it caught me neatly in a trap.”  
It had been one of Dirthamen’s praised ideas, a system which ensured that only the best individuals were sent to serve Evanuris and they remained motivated despite the obvious limitations slavery represented. The practice was used by every Evanuris, because it worked. But how well it worked, he had not… It was not… Feeling helpless, he said:  
“You could have told him it was me.”  
“I didn’t want to.” she said again, her voice tired and sad. “You were _mine_. When I stopped thinking you as an Evanuris, you became mine, a secret I loved to keep. I _chose_ you, because I _wanted_. I didn’t want to let them to ruin it. What was important to me would have been taken away and changed into something else. I didn’t want to be a merchandise to be bartered. Besides, Falon’Din is very bad at sharing.”  
“He is.”, Dirthamen admitted. He didn’t want to say it, but she deserved the truth. “I might have made a mistake telling him about you, but I had to save you somehow and I couldn’t think of any other way to do it. I’m sorry for acting the way I did. If my brother thinks I’m too fond of you, or that your loyalty belongs to someone else before him, an accident will happen to you. Falon’Din has always been jealous. He wants to be the best-loved, and I have to let his suspicions cool down.”  
“So you are saying I won’t see you again?” Roshan asked.  
“Not soon.” Dirthamen said.  
Roshan looked at the ceiling, her face written with exhaustion and resignation and silent despair. For first time during the entire terrible evening, tears started to fall from her eyes, making their silent way down across her face. She made no sound at all. He couldn’t bear seeing her like that.  
“Please don’t cry, gaidhalas. I love you. I promise I will find a way to untangle you from all this. I promise.” Dirthamen pressed his face in her short hair, all his denials bleeding out from him. “I love you.”  
“I love you too, vhenan.” Roshan’s tears wet the shoulder of his shirt, and Dirthamen could not recall ever being so joyful and hopelessly sad at the same time.

\--

 

“You are Mythal’s messenger?” Dirthamen asked from a visitor who had arrived into his study. “What are your skills?”  
The elf standing in front of him straightened his posture and crossed his hands behind his back.  
“I have taken body only recently, but before that, I was a spirit of Wisdom. I’m a skilled fighter with good eye for strategy and accomplished mage specializing in all matters concerning Fade. I have assisted Mythal in her recent projects, mostly in building a new city in south-eastern part of her province. My superiors say that I’m reasonable in espionage work, but I consider myself a scholar, a problem-solver, first.”  
A spirit of Wisdom, was he? To Dirthamen, he sounded more than bit like a spirit of Pride. But one should not look a gift horse in a mouth. Young and passionate ones had their uses.  
“I have two tasks for you.” Dirthamen said. He conjured a map of Elvhenan, placing a marker near Era’Vun in the western front.  
“Era’Vun is a mountain fortress guarding a pass which leads deeper to lands held by Nameless Ones. It is blocking our drive, but so far, all our attempts to conquer it have been in vain. Falon’Din informed me yesterday that he is sending a group of five Unfallen to assist Mythal’s forces to conquer it. My mother told that you are to lead them. I expect you not to fail. Not the mission, or the lives of those you command.” Dirthamen’s eyes were hard and unforgiving.  
The brand new commander was looking conflicted.  
“But the Unfallen… They all are blood mages, are they not?” he asked, sounding displeased.  
“They are unstoppable force powered by lives of others.” Dirthamen said sharply. “This is a prominent gesture of goodwill from my brother to allow someone else to command them in a battle. Mythal has placed a great trust on you. If you fail in this, there will be no second chances for you.”  
“I see.” his guest said. “And the second task?”  
“You said you were a scholar. I want you to study slavery.” Dirthamen said. “How it works in a life of an individual? What causes it? What it causes, to a person who is a slave, or those close to her. Are there injustices? How they could be avoided? Should there be laws governing slavery, rules to grant rights to slaves?”  
The Keeper of Secrets walked back and forth in his study, continuing:  
“What disadvantages there are? Do they outweigh the benefits? Could our economy work without slaves? If it could, what changes it would require, and how the transition would be easiest? Study the phenomenon, and give me arguments I can think through and represent to other Evanuris.”  
The new commander cleared his throat.  
“It’s ambitious task you have given me, honourable one. I will do my best to accomplish what you have asked of me, but I fear the answers might be slow coming considering that I’ll be stranded in the wilderness for months, likely years to come.”  
Dirthamen looked at him impassively.  
“It simply gives you a chance to conduct a field study. All Unfallen are slaves. You can start from there.”  
“Yes, honoured one.” the commander nodded. “When I will start?”  
“Immediately. The Unfallen have already left from Falon’Din’s realm.” Dirthamen said. “One last thing. What is your name? I need to know whom my people should contact with any information about Era’Vun.”  
“Solas, honoured one. My name is Solas.”


	2. Unfallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din's Unfallen, with Roshan among them, are sent to northern front.

“This is your pool of blood, Lavellan.” Vunora said to Roshan, nodding towards a small pond set between two trees crafted from black crystal. “The smaller one is for the recruit. I trust you still remember well enough how to bind yourself, or do I have to refresh your memory?”  
“I can handle myself.” Roshan replied.   
“Good. The recruit is your responsibility. Explain the basics and meet us in the yard. You have one turn of a glass to be ready.”  
The woman did not wait for answer. She turned her back at Roshan and the youngster standing next to her and strode back inside.   
“That was… cold.” the recruit said hesitantly.   
“Well, you should better get used to it.”, Roshan said. “I’m unpopular and you are new, so there is no reason to play nice. Vunora is commander of the operation, Shathor is her second, and Natha has a reputation of being as warm as your average mountain snake. That’s all of us, as far as I know.”  
“Yeah.” the youngster cleared his throat. “I’ve heard things about Natha.”  
“Just don’t get in her way, and she’ll leave you be.” Roshan said. “Generally things get better as soon as we leave the temple. The first rule of Unfallen is that we show united front, because everyone is afraid of us, and our lord likes it that way. Backstabbing is allowed only between missions. At our lord’s discretion, naturally. So it means you shouldn’t even think of annoying those he prefers more than you.”  
“This whole thing sounds unnerving.” the young man said miserably.   
“It can be.” Roshan agreed. “But you would not have passed the trials if you couldn’t do this. Focus on that.”  
“I don’t know that much about the Unfallen in general. I thought I would be made a priest, but then I got too many points from blood magic and physical when my father brought us all to be tested at the temple.”, he said gloomily. “My family wasn’t pleased for enslavement.”  
“You were a free citizen?” Roshan’s eyes widened.  
“I’m Isenril, of House Taudruil. Or was of House Taudruil, I mean.” the youngster corrected himself. “Before I failed the test, they put vallaslin on my face and told my father that I had to be a slave because Unfallen are slaves.”  
Roshan shook her head. What a luck. From a noble scion into a slave, and Unfallen at that.   
“But the priestess said to my father that Unfallen live very long lives. So it’s something to look forward to.” Isenril attempted to console himself.  
“Yes.” Roshan said, trying to make up her mind whether to tell him the whole truth about his future and long life now or later. She decided later. Half hour wasn’t that much time even without a mental breakdown the boy was going to have, and binding was not quick work.  
“All right. Since Vunora told me to fill you in, this is your blood pool and this is mine.” Roshan pointed at two pools near to each other. “Can you see the markings on the side?”  
“Is it some kind of rune?” Isenril peered, looking nervous.  
“Yes. It works simply. All servants of our lord have vallaslin on their faces, but the Unfallen have another tattoo over their heart.” Roshan began, starting to undress. “The rune on your skin is the same symbol as on your designated pool. Before mission, you simply get your clothes off, dip into the pool, and the markings on your chest will connect to runes on the pool. When you get hurt in the battle, or your own blood magic reserves get empty, our lord’s magic will allow you to withdraw blood from your pool, no matter how far you are physically. It’s extra power when you need it.”  
“It sounds quite wonderful but where is the catch?” Isenril asked hesitantly.  
So the boy wasn’t stupid after all, merely upset.   
“The catch is that someone else has to die to fill your pool, and you don’t know who it is. You can’t choose. All you can do is to try to make sure that your need of power is worth it.”, Roshan said grimly. There was no dancing around the truth, even though this was the discussion she had planned not to have now. “If you need more power than your own body and your pool holds, you die. If you succeed in your missions and please our lord, the slaves in the temple will dig your pool to be larger, so it can hold more blood. More people will die.”  
“That sounds quite unpleasant.” Isenril said weakly.  
“My mentor told me that most Unfallen veterans die because they either commit a suicide or their buddies kill them for being heartless bastards.” Roshan said. She dipped her bare foot in the pool. By Void, she hated this part. Blood in the pool was unnaturally warm and it felt like slimy whisper on her skin. But there was no helping it.   
“Take your clothes off and get into your pool.” Roshan said to the boy behind her. “For first activation or if you haven’t connected to your pool in last few years, you might need to soak for a while.”

She closed her eyes, standing in the pool up to her neck. She had barely stopped bleeding last week after the miscarriage, and things had gone downhill from there. Even though Falon’Din’s healers had patched her up well enough not to shame their lord in the eyes of his brother, their helpfulness had ceased when Dirthamen left. Her position had changed in a ways she did not fully understand yet. First, she had been the blackest of offenders, a violator of Falon’Din’s orders who was clearly destined to fill the pools and nothing more. Then Dirthamen’s intervention had shifted the blame on Chosen Mathras, who had dishonoured their lord by his actions and gotten punished for that, and she was suddenly the victim of a ploy. Nobody mentioned out loud that Mathras had simply looked for someone insignificant enough to fill Falon’Din’s lake of blood, and Falon’Din was the actual person who had jumped to conclusions, tortured her and committed the act which cost him a shipment of silver and five wagons worth of blue spider-silk. A ridiculous price for an unborn child, but Falon’Din wanted to appease his brother for the sake of their shared blood.

There were people who said that the whole thing was her fault, and she should have spoken about it before things got too far. Others said that Keeper of Secrets had probably told her not to talk, and children born to slaves were always slaves, no matter who was the father. The children of Evanuris were not unheard of, and not a big deal unless they were recognized. It largely depended on Evanuris, of course. Falon’Din liked to keep the fertility rates on his realm high, because the turnover was much bigger than in other areas, but he did not currently have children of his own. Some of the rumours said that last child he had, had grown up to be more beautiful than Falon’Din, while others said that the child had been too ugly to allowed to live. He had been dead for centuries in any case, so it hardly mattered. In June’s land, where Roshan had lived before her village was given to Falon’Din in a war settlement, people had to apply for permission to have a child because nobody ever died and June didn’t want his kingdom to become overpopulated.

After Dirthamen left, Falon’Din had summoned Roshan to throne room. He had informed her that Roshan was not going to be punished (again, she thought bitterly) for getting healed without permission, because it was understandable nobody wanted to be touched by someone mangled. But since she was healed now, he was going to reinstate her into her former position among the Unfallen to serve under Vunora. And then Falon’Din had expressly denied her the right to enter any kind of kitchen or cook anything. Ever. The edict had been accompanied by an evil smirk which said” _I know you hid from me in the kitchen for years, but there is no place to hide anymore. I’m on your trail, rabbit, just waiting for you to fail”._

She felt the blood in her small pool turning hot, and a pulse – there was no other way to describe it – travelled from the rune on the wall to one carved on her chest. The impact was harsh blow, and her whole body was suddenly rigid, chest pushed forwards. The power crackled inside her flesh, pricking under the skin of her fingertips and toes, stealing the breath from her lungs. For a moment, it felt like she had no body. She was a formless force, a crimson tide to wash over all who opposed her. For a moment, there was no feelings, but then it was gone, and she was herself again. The rune on her chest felt sore and her mouth tasted like she had swallowed blood.   
“Felt good after a decade?” Vunora was kneeling by the pool. She offered a hand to pull Roshan up.  
Roshan accepted the help, but she could not answer. She had no answer.   
“There is no need to hide it. It’s our nature, what we are made to be. You are no longer hiding in the kitchen, but among your own kind.” Vunora said. Her eyes were cool, but not unkind. “Go get your armor.”

\--

Roshan had never travelled much. When she had served in the war before, her group of Unfallen had been deployed in northern part of the border, alongside Elgar’nan’s troops. Both Nameless and Evanuris armies fought for every inch, and since Falon’Din had been in argument with Elgar’nan at the time, the Unfallen were not utilized properly. Roshan remembered meeting Shathor and Natha once or twice during those years when their group had been sent along with hers, but they were not truly familiar to her. Then the duel of champions between Elgar’nan and Falon’Din had taken place. Certain of his victory, Falon’Din had chosen his best Unfallen as his champion, and lost The Duel of Hundred Years.

The Unfallen had fallen from the grace. More than half of Roshan’s group had died on the last day of the Duel when their connection to Falon’Din had suddenly stopped working in the middle of a battle. The deaths seemed to concentrate on older and more experienced members of the order, leaving new recruits and those with mediocre pools. Without proper instruction on how to use their talents, most of the remaining ones had died too. From thirty-six Unfallen who had once served God of the Dead, only four remained when the purge was over. Shathor, Roshan and Natha in the northern front, Vunora in the south. Roshan knew that the reason for her own survival was the fact that she had gotten hit by a Nameless curse in a battle just before the duel. She had spent almost a month throwing up green goo in field hospital while her companions fought and died, forsaken by their god. How Vunora, Shathor and Natha had managed to dodge Falon’Din’s ire, she did not know. It was not something one could talk about.

The remaining two of Falon’Din’s Unfallen were waiting for their companions near the mirror which led to border town of Olemar.   
“Bad news.” Shathor growled. “We got saddled with a nitwit for a commander.”  
Vunora’s eyes narrowed.  
”How bad is it?” she asked.   
Natha and Shathor looked at each other.   
“That bad?” Vunora asked again.  
“If you think that fifteen-year-old Mythal’s little toolbaby is bad.” Natha spat on the ground.  
“Haven’t seen him yet, but we asked around. Solas is a baby who took a body less than two decades ago and built _holiday villas_ for Mythal. This is first time ever he is in spitting distance to Nameless Ones, and he thinks he is commanding us for real because he used to be a spirit of Wisdom.”, Shathor added with gravelly voice.  
The Unfallen looked at each other. Isenril was first to speak.   
“It must be a punishment from our lord.” he said in trembling voice. “With a commander like that, we are going to be just a laughingstock for everyone, with no other options except rebel against a bad order or die. And if we take orders from Mythal’s creature, it could count as a betrayal. No matter what we do, our lord may decide we have failed, and we all will die.”  
They were all quiet for a moment, considering the recruit’s words.   
“That is probably true.” Natha decided. “Considering he put Lavellan back in the ranks.”  
Roshan said nothing. She felt resentment bubbling inside her. What she would not have given to be back in the kitchen in peace. But instead, she had been saddled with people who didn’t have even the faintest trace of compassion or even common sense to admit what exactly had happened to her. Solidarity was not a virtue which thrived among Falon’Din’s followers.   
“There is no use denying it.”, Shathor said harshly. “The Unfallen are disgrace. Our lord was in no hurry to reassign you back before you displeased him. We were Falon’Din’s elite troops, and now he has given us to Mythal’s baby servant, like we were just pieces of trash. The boy will fail, and we die.”  
“What happened was not my fault.” Roshan’s temper flared, and her fingers wound into a fist. “Under any other Eva—“  
“Stop.”, Vunora’s tone allowed no arguments. “It is best that you don’t say something we will all repent. This is the situation we have to deal with, and I believe none of us wishes to die, so keep your mouths shut and stop whining. We have to take that fortress and do it with flying colours. We cannot rely on the boy, and our lord would not like it even if we could. So we are on our own.”

\--

The arrival of Falon’Din’s Unfallen was not missed by Mythal’s troops gathered in Olemar, and they weren’t exactly made to feel welcome. Vunora was in the command tent, arguing with Mythal’s people. Shathor and Natha had taken off to meet with Dirthamen’s people to gather latest intelligence on Era’Vun. Roshan suspected she had been left away from that trip on purpose, under excuse that someone had to keep eye on Isenril, but she didn’t mind standing outside the tent. She had led a solitary existence for last decade – as much as such thing was possible in a temple filled with people – and she sorely needed time to think.

For last decade, Roshan had woken up wondering if he would come to see her today. She had spent ridiculous amount of time in kitchen garden just to spy a glimpse of him on the path, despite knowing that the whole idea of developing a crush on Evanuris was ridiculous. Teaching Evanuris to cook had been equally ridiculous, Roshan used to tell herself, and it had worked just fine.  
She felt the absence of her old life keenly. It was like losing a tooth. One moment it was there, then it suddenly wasn’t, and she was left with a gaping hole which ached and bled. Roshan had never seen Dirthamen very often – it had been weeks, months, once almost a whole year – but the chance of hope had been important. Missing him had not been bad, because she had known they’d see eventually. The longing, waiting, falling asleep with a smile on her lips – it had been her secret. Now the secret was revealed, people were ruining it with their unthinking words, and he was no longer _hers_.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she willed herself not to cry. Isenril glanced at her, but said nothing. Roshan had forgotten how it felt like to have everyone staring on her, and she was grateful for the silver mask which hid her face from view. The masks they all wore with black armor had two purposes. First, people feared more what they could not identify. Every Unfallen was roughly identical height and the mask distorted their voices, making it impossible to tell one from other. All of them had their little tells – Natha liked to shift her weight to left as she stood and Isenril was radiating general uneasiness of a youth not yet comfortable in his armour - but for outsider, they were all the same. Secondly, the mask had few handy enchantments like the ability to throw her gaze across the battlefield. Suddenly switching her view to birds-eye had made Roshan dizzy when she first began her training, but as soon as she had gotten used to it, it had made fighting much easier.  

It was first time she had seen so many of Mythal’s people in one place. Mythal was mostly known for her cities, and Roshan had never visited any of them. Falon’Din wasn’t generous with travelling permissions for his lowly folk, and only persons she knew who had much reason to venture out from the realm were merchants. So she was genuinely curious to see what Mythal’s servants looked like. They favoured short grey cloaks or pelts on the shoulders of their golden armours. Very glittery, she decided.

The flap of command tent was pushed aside, and young man with glittering armor, luxurious wolf pelt and black, artificially curled hair stepped out. He stopped in front of Roshan and Isenril, clearing his throat.   
“Good day.” he began tentatively. “I’m Solas, a commander in Mythal’s service. I thought it would be good to see all of you before we begin the operation and get to know each other, but—”  
Roshan saw his expression when he looked at her mask, then Isenril’s, and a laughter bubbled inside her. It was just so ridiculous. He had seen Vunora inside the tent, decided that all right, their leader had this ceremonial armor. Then he had walked outside to meet the rest of his troops like a good little commander, only to find out they all looked exactly the same and he couldn’t tell them apart. The expression on his face – it was priceless.  
She couldn’t hold it, but started to laugh. The sound came out distorted, but easily recognisable. Solas looked at her for a moment, but then the offended annoyance on his face relaxed, changing into grin.   
“Yep. You found out my problem.” he admitted. “I was told how important it is for commander to know his men, but nobody said what I should do in case I couldn’t tell my soldiers apart.”  
“I can’t tell them apart either.” Isenril admitted with a titter, clearly feeling as hysterical as the rest of them.   
“Then you are even worse off than I.”, Solas shook his head in good humour. He knew when he was beaten. “Could you at least tie ribbons of different colour to your arms or something?”  
“Sorry.” Roshan shrugged. “Not allowed. It would ruin the effect.”  
“What about names? I’m getting desperate here.”  
“Not allowed either.”   
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Numbers?” Solas spread his hands. “Anything?”  
Roshan shook her head, but Isenril added carefully, joining the jest:   
“We are not allowed to tell you our names, but there isn’t a rule against you naming us. If I’m correct?”  
“It’s possible, as long as names are changed daily.” Roshan confirmed.   
“Would you answer if I called you by such name?” Solas asked. He was getting hang of the game.   
“It depends if it’s a nice name.” she smirked.   
“All right. I’ll get a book of bloody poetry from my tent so I know what to yell when the attack starts.” Solas said sarcastically. “In the meanwhile, I’m supposed to show you the way to the mountain pass.”   
He gestured them to follow, starting to walk through the camp.

Roshan decided Solas would do just fine.  


 

They did not need to wait for long before Vunora, Shathor and Natha arrived with more Mythal’s people. Mythal’s general, a long-nosed woman with glittering armour, wrapped a tiger pelt tighter around her shoulders against a chilling wind and started walking up the mountainside. Vunora went second, and the rest of Falon’Din’s Unfallen followed after her.   
“Here is the mountain pass of Era’Vun.” the woman said when they reached the top.  
It wasn’t a pass, Roshan thought. It was more like a gauntlet. From her vantage point, she could see the Nameless guards. They looked like ash spread on the snow. She bit the inside of her cheek, grimacing at the sharp crunching pain. When she tasted iron on her tongue, the mask on her face started to tingle. Focusing, Roshan threw her gaze over the pass. The sensation was disorienting and made her feel a bit dizzy at first. Their enemies glowed like little red spots in her birds-eye view. She counted them, making note of places where the living were concentrated or spots where she sensed more magic than there should have been. There would be no time to do that during the actual battle; watching from above made everything seem smaller and she could miss an incoming attack if she was too slow to end the spell.   
“One-hundred and fifty-two.”, Roshan said.  
Vunora nodded. The expression on Solas’ face was warring between disbelief and anger. Anger for what?  
“The plan is that you clear the way up to the fortress. Solas has an artefact to breach the gates. Once the gates are open, send a signal, and I will give my troops an order to march.”, Mythal’s general said.  
There was something condescending in her attitude; Roshan didn’t like her.   
“Excuse me, General Suraida.”, Solas said loudly. “We have over five hundred soldiers here. Did you just say that you are sending a group of five people to assault the fortress? You expect each of them kill thirty Nameless each, fight through the traps which killed fifteen of our best scouts in last two months, and keep me alive long enough to open the gates?”  
The look General Suraida gave to Solas rivalled some of Falon’Din’s best sneers.   
“If you fail, I have lost only one soldier. I need all of them to conquer the fortress.” she informed them. “If Unfallen can’t handle these odds, our Great Protector has been misled by her son’s promises.”  
“If there is something your Evanuris should worry about, it’s why five hundred of hers kept failing at something which requires only five of Falon’Din’s.”, Shathor replied.   
“We shall see about that.” General said frostily. “Don’t keep us waiting too long.”  
She turned on her heels and started walking back towards camp. Her adjutants gave Natha, who stood closest to path, almost identical scowls and followed their boss.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”, Isenril said weakly as the Unfallen were left alone with Solas.   
“Don’t.”, Natha said quickly, stepping next to Isenril. “The mask.”  
“Just bite down and swallow. It will help with nerves.” Vunora ordered.   
She glanced at the terrain below and then nodded.   
“This is how it goes. If we are to get through them, we need to be fast. Pull deep from the beginning, and keep going. Shathor and I will get you more to feed on, since we have more to begin with. Natha, you take the left flank with Isenril. Keep an eye on traps and the recruit. Shathor will do crowd control, and I’ll take care of any surprises.” Vunora gave the orders.  
“What about me?” Solas asked.   
“This is your first battle, isn’t it?” Vunora asked ironically.  
“I’ve seen many battles in the Fade and—“  
“They aren’t worth of shit.” Vunora interrupted him. “All you need to do is keep up and try not to die. We’ll take care of rest. “  
Turning to Roshan, Vunora continued:   
“You’ll occupy the middle spot. When we reach the curve where the gorge widens, grab the boy and get him to gates while we keep the idiots occupied. We’ll follow after you as soon as we have cleaned the route, but we can’t risk leaving too many Nameless between us and the other end of the gorge. Can you handle it?”  
“Yes.” Roshan replied.   
“Good. Any questions?”  
“I think that one Unfallen against a whole fortress is even worse than five Unfallen.” Solas said, looking a bit pale as he glanced towards the mountain pass. Roshan could almost vision the wolfish grin on Shathor’s face.   
“That’s because you think only how to get there. I think how to get my people out. Soldiers who let their escape route get cut off, die, and I don’t think you General cares enough to open a way for us by force.”, Vunora snapped. “Now get moving.”  


 

The rune on her heart was throbbing, now, feeding her with magic, and she kept pulling more blood from half a world away. It was like getting very drunk very fast, Roshan thought. Drunk on power. She was balancing on the perfect moment between being just drunk enough not to fear, but not enough to be sluggish and tired, either.

The Unfallen on each side of her felt the same. She could tell. Their strides had that swagger.

She saw the terrain before her in strange, distorted way, and the sword in her right hand felt more real than the she was. Everything felt oddly magical, and her mind didn’t have sense to fear things which would normally have sent her into anxiety. No. The Nameless had seen their approach, now, and only thing she felt was giddy, no, _hungr_ y excitement. Roshan knew it meant she was starting to sink in. Deep. The power was building a spiral inside her, barely kept in check, but now was not yet the time. She gripped her hand around the hilt of her sword, and said huskily to Solas:   
“Stay close.”  
Mythal’s little commander nodded, both of his hands gripping his staff. His knuckles were white, and he was shaking slightly, but he was afraid of the wrong party. Nameless, Roshan almost laughed. The boy was afraid of the _Nameless_.   
“Unfallen!” Vunora raised her voice to shout, and Roshan was so ready for this. “Falon’Din enansal!”  
The spiral of power inside her broke, and blood rushed to fill her.

\--

 

She laughed like madwoman as she cleaved her enemy into two. Another came towards her from left, flinging a crushing cage of spirit to imprison her, but Roshan pushed her arm through the bars and ripped the mage’s breastplate off. With ease, she forced her hand through the thin layer of skin which protected the heart within. It was wet in her hand when her fingers closed around it, and she pulled it out, barely registering the sound of Solas being sick behind her. The cage dissolved, and she was free.   
“Falon’Din enansal.” she whispered, and the organ dried in instant before she threw it away. She used the blood of the dead man to deal with next group of the Nameless servants. Her eyes shone red through the eyeholes of her Unfallen mask as she looked the three in the eye.   
“Cut your throats.” she told them in sing-song voice and walked on, the blood magic of Falon’Din breaking through their pitiful mental barriers behind her back.   
The side of Shathor and Vunora was a rain of red as they worked and Roshan siphoned their generous gift. From her left, she could hear disembodied wild laughter when a warrior in black weaved a complex spell of calling hungry shadows of those already fallen. Isenril, she was willing to bet, when the shades flew past her to spring the Nameless trap. The boy had makings of a priest in him.

The path was burning, now, and the ground under her feet screamed as the Dreamers retaliated. Roshan spied one of them, a young man whose head slumped on his chest. The ground opened, and the shards of stone flew in the air like deadly arrows. But Vunora was ready. She stopped, and _pulled_.   
“Falon’Din enansal!” her voice rang like angry demand, and their god heard his Unfallen.

Scratches, bruises, fresh wounds of the battlefield, every little injury which bled inside or outside elf’s skin. They all came to Vunora. Roshan quickly seized Solas’ wrist when she saw a cloud of red leaving him, too, spreading her barriers over him. And then she started to run, because this was her sign to go.

 

Roshan flew. She held her magic close like a second skin, a flaming aura which burned in her wake and allowed her to pass through. She did not stop to fight, she did not stop to wait, she stopped for nothing as she ran through the enemies, dodging them and letting their spells reflect back from her burning shields of blood. She drank deeper and deeper until she was sick, and she couldn’t see straight. Everything was red and hazy and tasted of iron.

She only stopped when she suddenly saw a wall of bricks in front of her. The fortress.   
“Get to work.” Roshan said, dropping her grip on Solas. She bent forwards, leaning against her knees, and trying not to vomit. It was coming. The backlash. Panic dwelled in her mind. It couldn’t, not now. She gagged once, twice, feeling cold sweat rising on her brow behind the mask. What had been unreal and glorious a moment before was starting to turn into counterattack of her own body because her pool was spent, and the spells she had unleashed were not yet satisfied. Magic demanded more.   
“Incoming!” Solas called. He was kneeling by the wall, fitting a golden flat circle with several sharp little appendages against the bricks. June’s? Roshan didn’t know.

The Nameless were closing on them, approaching from the direction of the gorge as well as from the fortress. Roshan threw her gaze again, even though tingling on her skin felt more like a kitchen grater this time. There were golden armours in the southern end of the gorge, but they were too far. The Unfallen were closer, but Isenril was stumbling as Natha pulled him forwards. The backlash was already upon him, Roshan understood, and it dictated her next move. She needed to hold on.

She bit her cheek again, opening the already repaired wound, and sucked her cheeks inwards as she held her weapon, retreating to stand in front of Solas. It was hard to talk her mouth filled with blood.   
“Falon’Din enansal.” she said, and the last syllables were a shrill scream when the rune on her heart started to burn, powered with her own blood. She raised a half-circle barrier over Solas and gripped her sword again. She would stand on her ground.

Enervation.   
Walking Bomb.  
Winter’s grasp.  
Mana Clash.

”Go, go, go!”, Solas yelled. Something golden pushed past her, breaking her barrier, and falling on the Nameless like a tidal wave. More and more gold, and stupid pelts, and her eyes were dimming. A change of balance. Sudden pain in her knees. She realized she was staring at the ground in front of her, swaying from side to side.  
The magic was hungry, and she didn’t have enough left. Roshan whined like a drowning pup as the rune on her heart started to crack. It was too dry, and she couldn’t, she couldn’t--  
Something black came to view and caught her when she fell forwards.  
A wet mist of red rained on her.   
“Hush, girl. Well done.” Shathor said, patting her on back when she fainted.

\--

 

Roshan’s legs were still unsteady when she staggered from the infirmary on Falon’Din’s temple grounds. Vunora was waiting for her.   
“Our lord is pleased with the capture of Era’Vun.” Vunora said. “He has sent you a gift.”  
The leader of Unfallen handed her a shovel. It was simple, sturdy shovel with a big red ribbon tied like a rosette around the shaft.   
“We are going back to northern front as soon as you and Isenril have dug your pools a bit deeper. I want to be gone when the Chosen start filling them.” Vunora’s eyes were tired. “I don’t think it’s likely we are coming back any time soon, so think carefully how much you need.”  
“Of course.” Roshan said. Her voice was husky and she felt numb inside.

She lifted the shovel on her shoulder with shaking hands and started to walk towards the pools.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few Unfallen drabbles here https://umerue.tumblr.com/


	3. A dragonling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roshan leaves the northern front for unwanted holiday.

“This is the last of them.” Shathor said to Roshan who nodded, preparing to close the vortex.  
“How many we brought in this week?” she asked.  
“I think almost sixty.” Shathor said. He pushed a prisoner roughly between shoulder blades. “Get going. We don’t have all day.”  
The young man with crimson vallaslin lost his balance and stumbled forwards, vanishing inside a black, swirling portal Roshan had created under Vunora’s instruction earlier this morning.  
“Now just fold it in.”, Vunora said, watching her tie the weaves of magic. The spell to imprison and preserve the enemy soldiers was curious. Roshan thought it could be best described it as some kind of pocket, or a breach through Beyond. It was a grey, foggy space which didn’t seem to have conventional borders. No matter how far in she had walked, there was nothing. The imprisoned enemy soldiers would stay there forever… Or until the spell was released from a small, perfectly ordinary little stone which dropped on Roshan’s palm when the vortex vanished.  
“Good. A word, Lavellan.” Vunora said, nodding at Roshan. Shathor handed Vunora a small bag filled with similar pebbles as the one on Roshan’s palm and left towards the main camp without a word.

“There is a problem with Natha.” Vunora said when Shathor left. “Isenril caught her playing with two of the prisoners this morning. Not ours, but theirs.”  
Vunora gave a sharp nod towards the flying banners of Mythal’s followers. Roshan grimaced.  
“I’m going to pull Natha back from any solitary scouting missions and keep her in the camp indefinitely. She needs to wean herself off from power until the craving for blood settles. If it settles.” Vunora remarked and took the pebble from Roshan, adding it to bag.  
“There was a member in my former group who had gotten too attached to blood magic. I took turns watching him, and I could do the same to Natha.” Roshan offered. She did not like Natha, and the woman wasn’t fond of her, either, but they were both Unfallen. Vunora was right; they could not turn a blind eye for something like this. Nobody wanted Natha use her pool for stupid things like torturing prisoners.  
“I have seen three in my time. One of them got so addicted that she started preying on us. She managed to kill two members of her squad, and Falon’Din had to come in personally to take her down.” Vunora said grimly.  
“He would come?” Roshan was genuinely surprised.  
“Of course.” Vunora replied. She gave Roshan a shrewd, appraising look. “You are young. Four hundred, five hundred?”  
“Six.”  
“Still young. I’ve read your files; I know how you ended up here with us. “, Vunora said. Seeing Roshan’s unease, she raised her palm. “I have no interest in details. I know you were punished, and you are resentful for that. You wouldn’t be the first to harbour some dream about what ifs.”  
“What if I had not been given to Falon’Din? What if I was free? What if I served someone else? What if my life was different, _and all those people wouldn’t have to die_.” Vunora’s voice dropped a register.  
Roshan’s breath caught in her throat. She was terrified to get caught like this. She had thought she was being so careful and --  
“I know.” Vunora said simply. “I was not unlike you at your age. Until you make up your mind about wanting to be Unfallen instead of a Keeper or cook or whatever you think you were supposed to become, this will not get any easier for you. I’m going to help you to do that.”  
“How?” Roshan demanded.  
“It’s simple, really.” Vunora informed her and closed Roshan’s hand around the bag of pebbles. “I have to stay here to keep eye on Natha, so I’m sending you to deliver keystones to our lord. He is currently visiting his mother’s realm. You can travel with our baby commander who has been making noises about going back to Mythal’s lands for some time. Mythal’s people are notoriously slow, I warn you, so it’s likely you will spend more time looking at pretty flowers in some obscure garden than actually working.”  
“I don’t understand. You said I was wavering, you questioned my loyalty, and then you send me for a holiday?” Roshan stared at Vunora.  
“Oh, yes.” the older woman said with a grin. “I think that year or two with Mythal’s followers will do a world of good for you.”  
“Do I have any say in this?” Roshan demanded. “With Natha out, it would leave only Shathor for scouting and Isenril is not experienced enough for most of work yet. You could exhaust yourself with watching Natha alone.”  
“Nice thought, but no.”, Vunora smirked. “I already told Solas you’re coming.”

\--

 

Roshan watched the changing scenery from the coach window, feeling bored. For safety reasons, there was no connection to eluvian network within two days’ of travel from the border against Nameless. Any travel for non-military purposes was restricted to flying coaches which flew above clouds and landed only on designated spots. Roshan agreed it was reasonable not to give people a glimpse on what was happening on the ground in border zone, but watching blue sky and fluffy, magically created clouds for days was dull. She would have expected them to land as soon as the coach had passed restricted area, but apparently Solas pulled enough rank for the coach to take them whole way to Mythal’s lands. It had been five days with nothing but clouds and a travelling companion who snoozed on the opposite bench.

Maybe Vunora’s goal was to show her that death in a battle was much better than death by tediousness. Roshan felt it was likely possibility, as things were going. She let herself slide from the bench, transferring her weight on her legs until she could arch her back up and stretch it a bit. Unfallen armor was not comfortable for extended travel. Spikes were convenient in a battle, but they severely limited the available sitting positions. Feeling her back muscles unclench, she let out a pleased hiss.

Of course, it woke up Solas. The boy blinked, rubbing Fade off his eyes.  
“What are you doing?” he asked uncertainly from Roshan.  
“Stretching.”, she said, trying to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Since you are finally awake, would you mind moving your legs a bit? I need some room.”  
Solas did as she was told, and Roshan laid down on the floor. Bending her knees, she placed her hands by her head and then pushed up. Her hips raised, she arched her back into full bridge. Her spine let out a loud snap and she sighed with pleasure as blood started to circulate properly in stiffened muscles.  
“Much better.” she decided as she lowered herself back on the floor. “How much longer this is going to take? If you say a week, I might jump out from the window.”  
“You are a bad traveller.”  
“I’m not a bad traveller.” Roshan disagreed. “I’m simply a person who is getting fed up with watching boring clouds from one day to another. Your coach has no room to move and the armor is digging into my lower back the moment my posture slouches.”  
“Both your problems are easily fixed. Take the armor off and sleep a bit. Fade is always interesting, and travelling to new places offers chance to see new dreams. I met a spirit of Love who had a grand tale about—“  
“I can’t get into Fade.” Roshan said sullenly. “You know it full well.”  
Solas blinked.  
“I’m not entirely certain who of the five you are, but if you are the one who took me through Era’Vun gorge like I think, you are a very accomplished mage.”  
“An accomplished _blood mage_.” Roshan pointed out.    
He looked mortally embarrassed, and a blush spread on his face.  
“I fear I forgot that.” Solas admitted. “It’s just that blood mages are not very common among Mythal’s servants. I don’t think I had ever met one before you.”  
“That is probably a good thing.” Roshan advised. “I imagine friendly Fade spirits are much better company than blood mages. You should stick to them.”  
Solas did not look convinced. The frown on his face was more like frustration. Roshan waited.  
“I don’t know what it is with your lot!” Solas snapped, losing his patience. “Every time I try to make civil conversation with one of you, you just tell me off. Shathor is downright rude, Natha ignores me, and Isenril runs off to you or your leader like a scared child the moment I open my mouth and ask something personal.”  
Roshan arched her eyebrows behind the mask.  
“Yes! I might be young, but I’m not stupid! I heard some of your names during Era’Vun mission and connecting them to persons after watching Unfallen for better part of a century wasn’t that hard. Armor and mask don’t hide things like behaviour!”  
Sitting up, Roshan looked at Solas, weighing her words carefully.  
“You shouldn’t ask personal questions from Isenril.” she said.  
“I’m simply trying to act like a decent person! If you just opened up a bit and dropped the act, we could actually work together and win this war!” Solas countered.  
“It is not decent behaviour to bring up topics of conversation which are painful to other person.” Roshan rebutted sharply. Her temper was getting out of hands again. “Isenril hurts. He is new, and still adjusting to loss of his freedom and position and failing the expectations of his family. He misses his mother and brothers and their home. He still asks for any news of his fiancée, even though he knows there is nothing in the whole world which could change his fate and she is going to bond someone else eventually. Isenril’s privacy to mourn is far more important than you feeling socially comfortable with us. If I catch you even once harassing him with your questions, I’ll knock your teeth out.” she pointed at Solas.  
“Oh.”, the youth said in small voice. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I did not mean to offend.”  
“It’s Isenril whom you should apologize to, not me.”, Roshan said grudgingly and stood up, sitting on hated bench again.  
Solas was still staring at her, looking like a kicked puppy, and Roshan sighed.  
“Look, I know you like being social and you have all these ideas on how you want to be a commander who is like a father to his men, but Unfallen are not the right squad for that. We serve Falon’Din, and you serve Mythal. What you need and what you deserve are other kind of people entirely. Young and bright people who can work with you.”  
Softening her words, Roshan added:  
“As commanders go, you are not doing a bad job. Standing up for your people is important, and once you got rid of the idea that watching Fade battles is sufficient education to keep you alive on the field, you started to do much better. ”  
Solas gave her a tentative smile.  
“Things are much easier in the Fade, but I have to admit I’ve found the tutoring by Shathor useful. Even though I think he doesn’t like me much.”  
“It’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Roshan remarked. “He wouldn’t send you for a holiday against your will.”  
Solas’ eyes lit up with glee.  
“Your boss did that?” he asked. “You got sent away as a punishment?”  
“It’s not a _punishment_ , she said. It is an _educational holiday_.” Roshan remarked sarcastically. “Even though I’m not certain how they are supposed to differ. So far, sitting in here and watching clouds has been much like a solitary confinement. Except in prison, they usually take your armour off, so it’s far more comfortable than this.”  
“You really are a bad traveller.” Solas stated.  
“I’m not.”  
“You are.” he said. “I think I’m going to start calling you Grumpy.”  
“Don’t you dare!” Roshan warned him.  
“I have to call you something when we get to Mythal’s holdings and I introduce you to people. And you said that there is no rule against giving you names. I remember. It was on the day we met.”  
“It was a joke.”  
“It’s still three days to Mythal’s holdings. One, if we take a shortcut through woods. I can give directions to driver if you tell me your name.” Solas suggested. “Or I can just call you Grumpy.”  
“You must not have been very strong spirit of Wisdom if you attempt to blackmail an Unfallen. Instead of giving you my name, I could rip your heart out.” Roshan said sweetly.  
“I know. But I don’t believe you would ever treat my poor heart unkindly. Some dangers are worth facing, and I know you protect fiercely what is yours.” Solas replied confidently.  
Roshan stared at him, speechless. That was… It sounded suspiciously like flirting. Lyrical, romantic kind. Almost poetic. Surely she had misheard. Misunderstood. She was still frozen on place when Solas reached forwards, taking her hand.  
“I would be honoured to know your name. I can keep it secret, if you wish.” he said earnestly.  
“I’d like that shortcut, please.” Roshan said, quickly pulling her gloved hand away and turning back towards the window. She heard Solas giving instructions to coach driver.

Roshan kept her eyes tightly focused on fluffy clouds. There was old, ghostly ache in her heart. One hundred and forty-two years had been a very long time to wait for something which would likely never happen again. He had forgotten, she thought. She had faded back into nothingness, sank under the radar. Even Falon’Din had forgotten she even existed. Roshan had no name or no face under the Unfallen mask.

Maybe it was true what Vunora said. That she could not move on before she gave up her past. Men made more promises than they kept, and Evanuris were no different. There were hundreds of voices crying for his attention, and she was frozen inside, unable to make the barest whisper. It was just like it had been with the baby. When she had felt the first stirrings inside her, she had known she should have done something. Escaped, maybe. Appeared on his doorstep, asking for help, for safety of the child. Go to Falon’Din, even, confessed everything and trusted her baby’s life on her master’s familial feelings. But Roshan could not. Her pride kept her frozen, as certainly as any chains to hold a prisoner. She would not beg. She would not plead. And so she stayed, fully knowing it was only a matter of time before everything went straight to Void.

Her child, Dirthamen had said. He had never referred it as his. Or theirs. That single word was a sharp cut his confession of love had never been able to soothe, because it explained everything.

Roshan had a long time to think about it. If Dirthamen had truly wanted, he could have taken her with him. Done something else than just leaving her there in Falon’Din’s temple, to deal with Falon’Din’s irritation while she was barely healed and hated by almost every survivor of the purge since they all had been Mathras’ allies. She could have left with him, if he wanted. Falon’Din liked his brother too much to make a fuss about losing one slave.

She had eventually decided that she had not been real to him. Or not real enough, Roshan thought, her expression saddening under the mask. She was still a slave, he was an Evanuris, and as long as he thought her like that, there could be no future. Words or promises had no weight unless they were backed by actions. And if she was still frozen, and he had forgotten, maybe Vunora was indeed right and it would be best if she simply forgot, too.

\--

It was very obvious why nobody used this shortcut through the forest anymore.  
“Duck!” Roshan screamed at Solas when a drake spat fire on them. Another one was flinging its tail, hitting a tree trunk instead of Roshan. The tree splintered and fell with a crushing noise echoing through the forest.  
“I swear, there was no dragon nest when I last used the path towards Mythal’s palace!” Solas shouted. Wingless dragonlings, as big as deer, were chasing after him towards a pond, like a pack of wolves guiding their prey to trap. Likely the entrance to their nest was nearby. He stumbled in the water, falling but pushing himself up again.  
“Do something! Defend yourself! ”, Roshan commanded, dodging the drake pursuing her.  
“Put the sword away!” Solas’ whisper was insisting. “We can’t hurt them! Dragons are sacred to Evanuris, especially Mythal! It’s the form of divine!”  
“I’m not going to explain to Falon’Din in afterlife that I just stood here and let a dragon to eat me.”, Roshan hissed back. “Do you have any idea what he would do?”  
“If you kill Mythal’s dragon, Elgar’nan will have us both, and there won’t be anything left for Falon’Din.” Solas warned. His face was pale and there was something wrong with his vallaslin. The green branches of Mythal’s tree were running along his cheeks.  
“What happened?” Roshan was shocked. “Are you poisoned? Burning? What is wrong with your vallaslin?”  
She had never seen a spell like that. Dragons, undoing the blood writing?  
“Forget about it!”  
“Are you hurt?” Roshan demanded, raising a barrier to keep drakes away.  
“No! It’s just paint! The water wetted my face.” Solas looked furiously blushed. “I don’t have a vallaslin yet. I wasn’t ready, Mythal said.”  
Roshan had a lot of things to say about that – painting slave markings on one’s face - but then she realized the dragonlings had forgotten about Solas. All of them were looking towards west, making eager little noises. Even the drakes had stopped for a moment.  
“It’s the mother.” Roshan said, feeling afraid.  
She drew her sword and dropped into a fighting stance and his eyes were wide as he looked to western sky. There was no sign of the beast yet, but even the drakes had stopped for a moment, turning to wait for their high dragon.

Roshan knew Solas was right. She could not kill the dragon. She wasn’t certain if she was able to, and if she did... There were fates worse than being dead. Falon’Din’s servants knew that if a crime was severe enough, staying dead was not something one could count on. Roshan had no wish to meet the God of Vengeance, and she did not think it was a good idea to depend on Unfallen pool of blood to survive this, either.

Making up her mind, she picked the biggest of dragonlings, a large female which had already started to grow third pair of limbs which would eventually develop into wings. It seemed to be the leader of the pack. The creature turned suddenly, looking at her.  
She heard Solas yelling something, but she was distracted by the dragonling. It was looking straight at her with black, stone-like eyes meeting her blue. Its nostrils flared. Roshan sliced her palm open and raised a bloody palm at dragonling. She cast the spell.

It was first time she had ever cast Blood Control on animal. The spell enabled a blood mage to forcibly control her target’s blood, making the target her ally. If enemy was strong-willed, it was greatly damaged by manipulation of its blood. But Roshan was determined; her will would prove to be stronger than dragon’s. She had been apprentice to a Keeper and handled animals from age of seven years and a young dragon was likely no different than any other beast, whether it’s shape was considered divine or not.  
“Go to your mother.” she said, staring at the beast. “Go to your mother, and take your siblings with you. There is no danger.”  
Something strange, alien, reached back to her. The presence touching her mind was tentative, curious, and definitely not elvhen. Drakes and smaller dragonlings around her stopped. They all watched her warily.  
“Go to your mother.” Roshan repeated, pulling more power from her own body. She started to shake, but held the spell, gritting her teeth together. The dragonling screamed at her, but she pushed, forcing her words to be heard.  
“There is no danger. Take your siblings with you and leave. Go to your mother.” she hissed, and her blood created the threads of spirit, binding the dragonling to her will. It pushed a two-forked tongue out of its mouth, tasting her blood misting in the air.

Finally the dragonling turned away, making high little noises to others. The smaller dragonlings emitted similar sounds and then the whole group vanished towards west, escorted by two drakes.  
Roshan fell on her knees, feeling dizzy and drained.  
“I will get help.” Solas said urgently. Roshan tried to say that he should not leave her, but he was gone before she got the words out.

 

Later, lost in depths of blood fatigue she felt a warm weight settling over her. Her mask was lifted off, as by magic.  
“Vhenan.”, she whispered, too tired to open her eyes.  
She felt a mouth pressing on her lips, and she smiled. He had come back, finally. She didn’t mind dying, if he was there. But Dirthamen’s tomato sauce tasted odd. It made her mouth burn when she swallowed.  
“You never were a good cook.” she muttered, falling back to unconsciousness.

A female dragonling, largest of her pack, curled on Roshan’s chest. It made a humming noise as it swiped its bloody tongue over elf’s mouth again. It licked her bloody hand clean, patiently cleaning the wound until the wound started to congeal. It waited, and watched, until the noise coming through forest told it that the two-legged ones were coming.

 

When Mythal’s proud warriors reached the end of the path, they saw a large dragonling with premature wings getting up and vanishing quickly in the woods. It had been laying on Falon’Din’s fallen servant, curled on her like a giant snake. The silver mask was thrown on the grass, and it had dents from several sharp teeth.  
“It’s her!” Solas said, sounding very anxious. “Is she dead?”  
“Don’t fret so, dear boy.” Mythal said. “Let us see.”  
She walked closer, gesturing her servants to keep their distance. Mythal studied her son’s unconscious servant, noticing a faint burn on her lower lip. A single black drop still glistened on corner of girl’s mouth. Mythal bent to wipe it away with one perfect, jewelled finger. The touch of black substance burned on her skin.  
“This will be interesting.” Mythal said to herself, wiping her hand on her lovely gown. She turned to face her servants and Solas, who looked anxious.  
“Falon’Din’s servant will live. Bring her to my palace. The room next to Solas’, so he may attend her. She is simply fatigued.” Mythal ruled. Her servants moved to do her bidding, but Mythal scarcely noticed. Her mind was already working on how to use this interesting new development to her best advantage.


	4. Mythal's trade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mythal makes a trade with her son. Roshan fails her dreams of freedom in several ways, but wins in others.
> 
> NSFW.

It was always a bad sign when she woke up and there was an Evanuris sitting by her bedside.  
“It’s good to see you wake up, dear girl. How are you?” a beautiful woman said, closing a book she had been reading. She had no vallaslin, unlike all others in the room. She had to be Mythal.  
“I’m not entirely sure, honoured one.” Roshan said weakly, feeling disoriented. She didn’t know where she was, or how she had gotten there. The room was airy, with thin silk curtains covering double doors leading to an airy garden. Air didn’t stink of blood, but flowers.  
“No dreams?” Mythal asked.  
“I don’t dream, honoured one. It’s a side effect of blood magic.” Roshan replied.  
“What a pity.” Mythal replied lightly. “Do you know much about dragons, da’len?”  
Roshan shook her head, starting to feel nervous. This discussion was making no sense, and she was certain there was a trap somewhere. She was likely walking straight into it, but she didn’t have the faintest idea what to look for.  
“This book from my personal collection covers most of the basics. I recommend you read it yourself when you feel better, but I will summarize it to you. Female dragons take much longer to mature than their male counterparts. They undergo a metamorphosis at adulthood, growing a third set of limbs to serve as wings. It takes time, and it isn’t easy, but the end is worth it. Only females can be high dragons.” Mythal smiled. It was a sharp little smile.  
”Young females travel great distances looking for a suitable nesting site. When she finds one and settles in, drakes seek for her lair, often immediately after they reach maturity. They hope to receive her approval. Once a female selects a drake, he will be monogamous for life. She spends her time sleeping, mating, and living off the prey her drakes bring to her, growing into a high dragon. They are rarest of their kind, and rulers of skies.”  
“I’ve heard of rampages they make, but I have never seen a high dragon.” Roshan said carefully. “But if dragons are protected as sacred beasts and forms of divine, how there aren’t more of them? I saw at least five females old enough to tell them apart from males.”  
“That is a good question.” Mythal said, sounding pleased. “You are a clever girl. Maybe it is because not every dragonling survives metamorphosis. Every major change in life comes with a great pain, and not everyone can handle it. Growing one’s wings is never easy.”  
Mythal nodded towards the book, and that sharp little smile was there again.  
“The book doesn’t cover much of that, I fear. But it was written by a man. Men don’t know much about changing. They mostly are what they are, and if they change, they usually become less than they were. Drakes, for example, drop their front limbs entirely. I have always wondered if it is because they don’t know what to do with them.”  
“I can’t claim to know much about that.” Roshan said, starting to feel increasingly nervous. This was just weird.  
“Not yet.” Mythal said, patting her knee in motherly manner. “But you will learn all about it very soon. I trust you will advise my Solas about what to do with his limbs and other parts of his body. He is a dear boy, but dreadfully naïve. You, on the other hand, are anything but. I think you will do nicely.”  
The elven servants around them giggled.  
“I would like to know what you mean. Exactly.” Roshan said. She didn’t know what she was looking at, but she could feel the jaws of invisible trap closing on her. “Because I don’t think you are talking about dragons anymore.”  
Mythal chuckled.  
“Of course you would. But my son has requested to be informed as soon as you wake up.”  
The keystones, Roshan realized with a fright. She had the keystones with her during the fight, but she was no longer wearing her armor or her mask, and the bag Vunora trusted to her was gone, too.  
Mythal seemed to notice her panic. The Evanuris pulled the bag from drawer, placing it on nightstand.  
“All your other belongings have been taken to my son’s rooms in guest wing. He insisted so. Falon’Din would have taken you too, had I not convinced him that you will recover much faster in my care.”  
“I beg your forgiveness, honoured one, but I must not keep him waiting.” Roshan said.  
“As you wish. My attendants will see to your needs and help you prepare for the party. It begins at sundown, and you should not be late, being the guest of honor. A dress has been made for you; it is customary for a bride to wear silver.” Mythal advised and glided away, leaving behind a cloud of perfume.

 

“The deal is very simple.” Falon’Din said, piling keystones in stacks of ten as he counted. “Mythal has offered me fifteen percent of prisoners her people capture in northern front in exchange for setting you up with her servant. I don’t remember the name. The spirit-born boy she favours.”  
“Solas.” Roshan said, feeling panicked. “He is _one hundred and fifty-seven_ , my lord _.”_  
“If Mythal wishes to play a matchmaker for a teenager, it is her privilege. You have no say in this.” Falon’Din gave her a warning glance. “You are not worth of fifteen percent of prisoners.”  
Roshan swallowed. She knew full well that only reason why Falon’Din hadn’t settled the matter with violence already was the fact that they were in Mythal’s palace, and there were several of Mythal’s attendants in the room, busying themselves with menial tasks. They were listening in the conversation.  
“I’m sure you have heard Vunora’s news by now. I can’t play house with a boy while I’m needed at northern front, my lord.”, Roshan desperately made the only argument she thought could change Falon’Din’s mind.  
“Mythal has asked for your ownership, too, not just the bond. Whether I will agree or not depends largely on your usefulness and how you represent yourself tonight.” Falon’Din replied. “A bond does not mean you would necessarily live here after the courtship period ends. You just need to bed the boy and breed.”

 --

There wasn’t much ceremony. There was a parchment, first signed neatly by Mythal’s hand and then Falon’Din added his with flourish Solas smiled widely, and Roshan was frozen.

This was not unexpected fate for a slave. Last time she had barely dodged Learned Fenjosian, who had terrible reputation but substantial holdings. But this time, there was nothing she could do about it. Her fate was decided and sealed just like that. Mythal had requested a courtship period of one year before official bond would take place, and she would be sold to Mythal.

There was a party, because Solas was a prominent follower of Mythal and she was one of the Unfallen. Roshan would have preferred to wear her mask and armor instead of silver gown. It was first time she wore silk, and she didn’t like it. At least the Evanuris did not linger, leaving soon to talk with more important people, but it left Roshan without anyone she knew except Solas and some Falon’Din’s followers, and she felt like she was going to suffocate if she stayed in the room a minute longer. There were far more people than she had expected, a sea of different vallaslins, and the air was hot and heavy. She made her excuses, smiling woodenly as she promised to Solas to get back soon, and left the ballroom.

\-- 

She had found a quiet spot by an ornate trellis in an abandoned corridor in a section which looked like public offices of Mythal’s palace. The trellis was taller than she, but there was a window above it, and it let some air in. Through the grooves, she saw a large, formal garden with carefully cultivated bushes and flower arrangements and behind it, a forest. Roshan considered her options. If she slipped away now, it was likely that she could get an hour before anyone noticed she was missing. Her escape would embarrass Falon’Din and Mythal both, and it was highly unlikely that she could survive that. There was a matter of Solas however, and if she had miscalculated Mythal’s fondness for the boy, he might get caught in inevitable explosion.

But then she thought of Falon’Din’s words. Bed the boy and breed. _Breed._ Roshan remember what had happened the last time, and fear made her mouth taste like ash. Making up her mind, she kicked her shoes off and started to climb up the wall.

She was just going to pull herself up on the railing when her skirt got caught on something. She looked down and saw the reason. Someone was holding the hem of her gown.  
“Good evening, Roshan.” Dirthamen said.  
It had been over a century, but he was still the same.  
“Good evening.” she returned the greeting, feeling a foolish rush of warmth in her veins. “I did not know you were here.”  
“I didn’t know that you were here, either, before I ventured into mother’s surprise party and met your intended.” he said. He looked at the wall, and the open window above it, and then finally at Roshan who was hanging from the railing with no shoes.  
“What were you going to do to shoes? They are a dead tell.” Dirthamen inquired with interest.  
“Destroy them with blood magic. Or to leave them there, run over the roof, and get down in opposite direction.” she admitted.  
Dirthamen clicked his tongue disapprovingly.  
“You would have been caught within an hour. Less than an hour, considering that I am here with my brother and my mother would certainly have requested my assistance. Ten minutes.”  
“Am I caught now?” she asked.  
“Considering the inevitable outcome of failed escape attempt leading to your death, you are.” he decided, giving her hem a hard pull. Grip on her left hand slipped, but she managed to hold on with right.  
“If I come down, what happens?” she requested.  
“We can talk about that in there.” Dirthamen said, nodding towards the first door on right. “I checked it on my way here. It’s basically a large closet, but it has a door with a decent lock.”  
She smiled, looking at him. Her heart stirred, foolish as it was.  
"Yes."

 

-/-

“My congratulations on your courtship, my love.” Dirthamen said, pulling the shoulder straps of her gown down. Her breasts were like he remembered, the perfect size to fit on his palm. He pushed her against the wall, trailing his mouth down to her nipple. He grazed it lightly with his teeth and Roshan threw her head back, shivering.  
“It was not my idea.” she said.  
“Good.”, Dirthamen replied. He had suspected that much, but he needed to hear it. See it. The gown mother had dressed her into for this farce was very pretty. Even though Dirthamen would have chosen teal, or emerald, or light blue. Silver was cold; it made her look pale and washed out. He flicked his tongue over her nipple, dragging his hands along her bare upper body. Magic sparkled from his hands, and a blush was starting to turn her cheeks rosy. She was biting her lip to stay quiet. It would not do.  
“I need to hear you, gaidhalas.”, he said, trailing kisses upwards to her neck and then biting down on sensitive spot she liked best. He remembered it well. It would bruise, but in this case, he did not mind. He wanted to leave his mark on her skin.  
“Weren’t you supposed to demand silence?” Roshan’s reply was cut by a sharp breath as he sucked the skin of her neck. Her cheeks were heated now. Dirthamen appreciated.  
“You make the loveliest gasps and little wails when you clench and writhe on my cock, wet and eager. I want to hear them.” Dirthamen told her. He expertly gathered her hems up, around her waist, and hooked his fingers around her underpants. Silk. The fabric made a satisfying sound when he ripped the side seam open and threw them over his shoulder. She didn’t need those.  
“You ruin my escape, pull me into closet during my courtship party to Solas, rip off my underwear and expect me to fuck you?” Roshan demanded.  
“Your pants were already wet, and ruining them made me happy.” Dirthamen flashed her his best smile. “And why not?” he asked, grinding his hardness against her. “I’ve missed you so much, gaidhalas.”  
“Fenedhis lasa, you are impossible.” Roshan cursed, but she slipped her hand on the bulge on his trousers, stroking him through leather. She opened the clasps and buttons, pulling his trousers down.  
Her eyes softened as she looked at him.  
“But I have missed you too. I thought you had forgotten.”  
“I would not.” he said, pulling her closer to a hungry kiss. Her hems dropped down again, and Dirthamen was pulling them up, when Roshan stopped him.  
“If I’m going to cheat on my fiancée in a party celebrating our courtship, it should be done properly. This whole thing was not my idea, and I’m terrible about following the rules.” she said in hushed voice and dropped on her knees. Dirthamen felt her lips closing around him, licking and sucking, and he groaned as he felt her taking him deep in her mouth.  
“I like the sounds you make too.” the little witch informed him, and Dirthamen balanced himself against the wall. Disrespect, he thought, his mind filled with lust. Roshan had a notorious streak of disrespect.

He found that he still did not mind.

She was glorious, Dirthamen thought, and there was a certain part of him which thoroughly enjoyed the circumstances. Her hair was coming undone from the careful arrangement Mythal’s servants had made, and her silver dress was a heap of silk on the floor. He had let her keep the shoes, however, and the necklace which was a gift from the boy. He liked to watch it bounce between her breasts as she impaled herself on his cock and back again.  
Roshan’s eyes were starting to glaze, and she was near the edge.  
“Faster.”, Dirthamen told her.  
”I can’t.”, she begged. A bead of sweat was running between her breasts, and he pulled her closer for a moment to lick it off her skin.  
“You can.”, he murmured softly, slipping his fingers between her legs. Her nub was swollen and hard, and she could not quite decide whether to lean against his touch or away from it.  
“This was a terrible idea.” she said breathlessly as she rose on her knees again. “He is a nice boy. Very sweet, and innocent.”  
He gripped her hips, digging his fingers firmly to bring her down on his cock.  
“I don’t care about the boy.” Dirthamen said, his breathing turning ragged as she squeezed him deliciously. “Even though it brings certain flavour. And demands on my honor.”  
“You have an honor?” she arched her eyebrows.  
“Certainly.”, he assured. “I can’t let you go before you forget about the boy. I need to fuck you so thoroughly that it will be me you think about every time you couple with that fumbling youth.”  
“Even I could do that.” she informed him, descending down again as he pulled her.  
“With blood magic, yes. It’s not for you.” he said, rolling them over. Leaning against his elbows, he pushed her legs back to angle against her nub with each thrust and smiled.  
“For you, I will simply rely on my charms and skill. And don’t try to control yourself so hard, dear. I like you better as you are.”

She let go. He relished each gasp from her swollen lips, the feeling of her squirming under him, or the weight of her legs wrapped around his waist. She wailed as her pleasure started to build higher, and he bit her neck again to distract himself from coming too soon, feeling her wiggle her hips. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, holding him like she was drowning, and then she did.

The name she cried out was not the boy’s, but his, and Dirthamen loved the moment her blue eyes turned foggy and unfocused. Her muscles tensed, then relaxed, and she let out a small whimper when he continued to thrust, letting her afterglow to coax him to spill himself inside her. It was glorious feeling to let himself drop on her, and feel her hands pulling him close. Cuddling, Dirthamen thought tiredly, as her fingers gently wound into his hair. People who bedded Evanuris did not have courage to cuddle.

“Dirthamen.”, she said. “There is something I need.”  
“Yes?” he murmured against her skin, masking his upset well. Asking for boons, now, like everyone else? She had changed, then. The realization hurt even though it was to be expected.  
“Would you cast me a binding? Infertility rune.” Roshan asked. “Strong enough that no potion or a spell can’t break through it. There will be expectations, and you know what I think of it. “  
Her eyes were sad but resolute as she stroked his hair, and Dirthamen nodded. Had she asked for jewels or favours, he would have complied reluctantly, but this… It was a request he understood very well.  
“Of course.” he said, spreading his fingers on her lower stomach. The gesture felt strangely intimate, more so than anything he had done in last half hour. As he felt for points to build his binding on, he found an old scarring inside her. Those wounds had been fresh last time they had met.  
“I’m glad you haven’t changed.” a confession slipped from his lips as he focused and released the spell. She spasmed under his hand, her face twisting in pain as the binding took hold.  
“Thank you.” Roshan whispered when her breathing had evened out again. There were tears in her eyes, but she looked relieved.  
“It was no trouble.” Dirthamen replied. ”It will hold.”  
He lifted his leg over hers, rolling them both over until he laid beneath her.  
“Why it is that we always meet in barbaric conditions?” he wondered idly, feeling his desire stirring again. “First my brother’s kitchen garden and now my mother’s closet.”  
“I don’t mind. You are far more comfortable than my usual beddings in northern front.”, Roshan said.  
“You still don’t have a room? Or even a proper bed?” Dirthamen asked.  
She shook her head, looking amused as she sat up and reached for her dress. He was disappointed as she pulled it over her head, hiding her nakedness.  
“Should I query? Ask Falon’Din if I could get nicer accommodations so I can continue my secret relationship with you in comfort?” she laughed as she started to arrange her hair back up.  
“I will gift you a nice bed as a courtship celebration present.” Dirthamen decided. “As soon as I return you to the boy.”  
“We should get back to party before someone starts to wonder.” Roshan reminded him.  
“I’m not done with you yet.” Dirthamen said. “I told you need to forget about the boy.”  
He caught the hem of her dress, pulling it up as he gripped her hips. She had a lovely ass, he thought, and her thighs were wet with his come. The contrast with chaste silver dress was arousing. He liked the view.  
“Dirthamen.”, she warned.  
“Yes?” he asked innocently as he pushed inside her, starting to fuck her in long, unhurried strokes. A needy moan escaped her lips, and she braced herself on all fours.  
“There is no way this can end well.” she gasped, pushing her thighs apart to let him deeper.  
Dirthamen considered it.  
“It’s very likely.” he said, closing his eyes to let himself drown in pleasurable sensation. “Do you care?”  
“No.”, Roshan pulled his hand forwards, closing it around her breast. “Truthfully, I don’t.”  
He could feel she told the truth. Dirthamen chuckled in low, velvety voice and made no effort to pick up the pace. The party could wait for their pleasure a bit longer.

\--

“I would not have thought that the boy had it in him.” Falon’Din remarked lazily as he watched his Unfallen make his way through crowd. “Mother was going on and on about how he is supposedly the most chivalrous person ever and good stock, but there is no mistaking the glow one gets from good fuck.”  
“Maybe he has surprising talents.” Dirthamen remarked, taking a glass from tray a servant held. He was thirsty and emptied it quickly. His mouth tasted like her.  
“That one? Please, brother, I’m not stupid.” Falon’Din snickered. “I happened to look for you an hour ago, but I couldn’t find you anywhere.”  
“You know how things come up. And mother’s parties are always boring.” Dirthamen replied calmly.  
“I saw your servants dragging a very nice bed upstairs just five minutes ago. I think I recall seeing it in one of your holdings.”  
“Solas has been working for me in the past. It would be unseemly not to congratulate him on gaining advantageous partnership in such a young age. People entering formal courtship benefit from a proper bed.” a faint smile curved Dirthamen’s lips.  
Falon’Din rolled with his eyes.  
“As you wish.” he said. “I don’t care how you amuse yourself, since I won anyways. Mother paid me a handsome sum for this arrangement, and Lavellan is fighting tooth and nail against it. So I told her that I’m going to withhold the actual bonding and her transfer to mother as long as she does a good job as Unfallen.”  
Dirthamen arched his eyebrow.  
“I didn’t think Mythal would agree to that.”  
“I said mother that as long as the war continues in northern front, I cannot give up an Unfallen, so her matchmaking just has to wait. Training a replacement takes too long, and I have plans.” Falon’Din remarked, watching Roshan.  
“What kind of plans?” Dirthamen asked.  
“There are rumours of Anaris’ presence in northern front. I have been thinking of investigating them personally to decide if he could be tracked down and utilized.” Falon’Din replied. “Let father to worry about territory. Glory and power can be found much easier by going directly to source to harvest it.”  
He looked at Dirthamen, sipping his drink.  
“I trust I have your assistance in this, brother?”  
“As always, Falon’Din.” Dirthamen said neutrally as he watched unsuspecting Roshan speaking with Solas.

\--

  
He had actually kept his word and given them a bed. One of his own beds, Roshan realized, following the carvings of ravens on the headboard. And Solas did not suspect a thing. Oh, fenedhis lasa. She watched him pour a cup of wine from crystal decanter and realized this was probably going to be the most awkward encounter in her whole life.

She would _kill_ Vunora for arranging this holiday.

“It’s a lovely bed. Very soft.” Solas said, clearing his throat. He offered the cup to Roshan, who seized it. Maybe this would be less mortifying if she got herself drunk, first.  
“It is a grand gift.” she nodded, keeping her eyes focused on the cup she held. _Oh, Falon’Din, please allow ground beneath my feet to part and swallow me whole._  
“Indeed. I have been working on a research task Keeper of Secrets gave me. It was very thoughtful of him to bestow a gift to honor the occasion. I didn’t expect anything so grand.”  
“Very thoughtful.” Roshan repeated woodenly. She was unable to meet Solas’ eyes. Damn Dirthamen and his twisted sense of humour. She would make him pay for this.  
“Are you nervous?” Solas asked. “I have to admit I have no experience in these matters, but I will try my best not to hurt you.”  
“That is not a problem.” Roshan said. She wondered what would happen if she ran through the door downstairs, through the ballroom where party was still in full swing and screamed like a madwoman. If she was very, very lucky, maybe Falon’Din would kill her.  
But Solas was still looking at her, with worried expression on his earnest face, and she had to say something. Because it was very likely that Falon’Din would not kill her but just to send her back here and come to stand in the room until the deed was done. Mythal had paid him that much. Why? Roshan would have liked to know.  
“I have some previous experience.” she said carefully. “But I desist the situation. Not you, personally. You are a nice person. It’s just… I don’t want to enter a courtship or get bonded. With anyone. Ever. So this arrangement sits ill with me. Very ill.”  
“Ah.” understanding dawned on Solas. “I thought you were afraid of sex.”  
The tips of his ears blushed as he said the word. Roshan shifted, feeling the wet soreness between her legs.  
“That is not the case.” she replied. Understatement of the year. Congratulations, Roshie.  
“Good. There are stories of other Evanuris mishandling their servants and I’m relieved to know it isn’t the case with you.” Solas said. He looked very nervous as he sat on the bed next to her.  
“You don’t think it’s mishandling one’s servants to sell them off?” she asked sharper than she meant. “You don’t blame Mythal for pushing you into a formal courtship with someone you hardly know before you are even ready for a vallaslin? Not that you should get one. You definitely should not.”  
“She actually said that after we have con-- That she will mark me tomorrow morning.” Solas said, unable to keep the pride off his face.  
“Great. Just great.” Roshan studied her cup of wine and then took a generous swig. It did not help.  
”Isn’t it! I’ve waited for years to be ready and now I get everything at once! A vallaslin, a new position in Mythal’s court, an advantageous courtship arrangement… Mythal likes you very much. She told me that she is eager for you to leave Falon’Din’s service when we are formally bonded.” Solas explained enthusiastically.  
“Is she?” Roshan asked shrewdly. “Why? We have met only once, and she had negotiated the whole thing with Falon’Din already.”  
“She has not shared her reasons with me, but I’m sure they are good. Maybe she sees potential in you. That is what she says about me. I have potential. That is why she gave me the command even though others protested. Mythal is the best of Evanuris. She is very wise. And very beautiful.”  
Roshan gave Solas a sideways look.  
”It sounds almost like you had a crush on her.”, she remarked.  
“Me? On Mythal? That’s… She is… It’s preposterous to even consider I would ever think… That she would ever think someone like me in that way!” Solas stuttered. “You must not say anything like that when others hear. It could be dangerous.”  
“It is.”, Roshan remarked. “I’m sorry. We will not speak about that again.”  
“But I have to say I’m relieved. I always knew Mythal would find me someone, and I was wondering if it would take very long, and what kind of person they would be. I like girls more than boys, so I’m pleased you are a girl. Are you?”, Solas ensured.  
“Yep.”  
Maybe, Roshan thought, if she stuck to answers consisting of single syllables, she could get through this. Somehow.  
“Good. I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you were a man. But since you are not, it’s good.” Solas looked quite nervous. “Fenedhis lasa, I’m babbling, am I not?”  
“You are.” Roshan agreed.  
“It’s just that… I know you said you don’t want to court anyone, and I respect that, but we are expected to do this. I have to have sex with you or I won’t get my vallaslin tomorrow, and everyone will laugh at me. They will say I’m too young. A baby. But I’m not. I simply – I simply don’t know how to start. Because I don’t want to do it badly. For you.” Solas’ ears were in flames, now.  
“All right.” Roshan pushed her cup of wine into Solas’ hands. “Drink that and two more. Then, when you are drunk enough not to worry, I will show you what to do. You will get your vallaslin, even though I still think you shouldn’t. But a slave can’t choose his fate, and I should not blame you for this. You are just a fellow prisoner.”  
Solas drank the wine very obediently.  
“You seem to feel strongly about this.”  
“I do.”, Roshan admitted. She looked at Solas, wondering if he could be trusted with the truth. No, she decided. But the whole scene was just so awful. She remembered laughing in temple kitchen, guiding his hand, berating Dirthamen for burning the sauce. How carefully he had kissed her when they sat on the bench. It had been much different than sitting nervously on strange bed and being told to get drunk so the act could get done with a minimal fuss. She felt pity for Solas. Poor, innocent boy. This was not his fault.  
With iron determination of a soldier walking to a field of battle, Roshan took the wine away from Solas and cupped his face between her hands, kissing him.

"It was wonderful.” Solas said enthusiastically in dark bedroom. “I understand now why people make such a fuss about it. When I was a spirit, I didn’t understand the temptation.”  
“Good.” Roshan said, returning from the bathroom. She didn’t bother with lights, because she was more than ready to crawl into her new bed and fall asleep. She was sore all over. Having no sex at all for century and a half and then attempting a marathon in a single evening did not work well with sensitive parts of her body. The sheets felt very nice, she noted. Pillow was like a fluffy cloud when she sank on it. Nobody would expect her to wake up early tomorrow; she could sleep. Sleep sounded wonderful.  
“I think the act isn’t as hard as people say. There is a slight difficulty of matching the body parts without fumbling, but I think I did quite well. You were very wet. I’ve read about topic. It means I did well, doesn’t it?”  
Oh, stars. A choked, noncommittal noise was best Roshan could do.  
“You didn’t have any underpants either.” Solas sounded absolutely smug.  
Roshan tried to think where Dirthamen had thrown them, but she didn’t have faintest idea. She hoped fervently they would not turn up somewhere tomorrow. It would be hard to explain. She bit her fist in the dark, trying to not to break into hysterical cackles.  
“Mythal gave me an informative book with pictures. She said it was important I learned to please you. I think I can do better next time.” Solas said happily.  
Roshan bit her fist so hard that she drew blood.  
“It was very kind thought.” she said in a strangled voice. “But I forgot I promised to talk with my lord when the celebrations were over. I have to go.”  
“Are you certain?”  
“Absolutely certain. Tomorrow is important day for you. You should sleep. I will be there when Mythal marks you.”

 

Roshan rushed through the halls towards Falon’Din’s rooms. She nodded to attendants standing at the hallway, and was granted a pass without a word. Unfallen had their privileges.

Her lord was sitting by a desk, writing a missive. Roshan crossed the floor quickly, kneeling on one knee.  
“What are you doing here?” Falon’Din asked, arching one perfect eyebrow.  
“I can’t stay there. It’s… It’s plain awful! He told me all about some pornographic book of pictures Mythal had given him, for instruction, so he would be pleasing!” Roshan burst. “Please, my lord, don’t make me go back there. He is like some overeager puppy, and I don’t know how to handle it.”  
Falon’Din stared at her. Then God of Death threw his head back and burst in laughter. He laughed until his eyes watered, and Roshan was mortified.  
“Oh, you poor wretched thing.” Falon’Din said, wiping his eyes. “You truly don’t fit with Mythal’s glittering ones, don’t you?”  
“I hate it here.” she said miserably.  
“Of course you do.”, Falon’Din said like it was most obvious thing in the world. “In my realm, you always knew where you stood. My mother and her people are smiling snakes. They suffocate people with false kindness, masking their chains in a pretence of warmth.”  
He patted Roshan’s hair with his jewelled hand.  
“I don’t know yet why my mother wants you so badly. But because she does, there must be some worth in you which has escaped me so far.”  
“Yes, my lord.” her answer was quiet and barely audible.  
“I have no intention of actually going through with this ridiculous arrangement before I find out the truth. You have performed well despite your earlier difficulties. Coming to me now was a wise choice, pet.”, Falon’Din said. “You did your duty and bedded Mythal’s boy?”  
“Yes, my lord.”  
“Good. Then you may stay and sleep on the floor.”

Roshan felt ridiculously relieved as she folded her black cloak into a pillow and laid down hard floor near the fireplace. Only sound in the room was Falon’Din’s steady breathing. She hated herself for coming here and feeling this way, but being here made her feel calm, soothing her anxiety.  
Falon’Din was the devil she knew. He might kill her, or hurt her until she wished she could die, but there were rules in that. She knew what was expected of her, and which actions would anger him. Facing Solas’ eager kindness was far more frightening than anything Falon’Din could do. Roshan did not _do_ feelings for a very good reason. She could not handle them.  
It had been lovely to see Dirthamen again, she decided, closing her eyes. She could endure him far better, since the whole thing was doomed anyway and there was no pressure. He always made her feel strangely alive, like a sparkling flame, like she was free.  
A free person who had run to her owner and begged to sleep on a floor like a dog, Roshan reminded herself bitterly. Maybe Falon’Din was right and she couldn’t handle freedom. It was filled with too many uncertainties. And she really did not like Mythal’s people. They were unnerving, and Mythal was the worst of them all. She wanted to go back to north and Unfallen where she was among companions, if not friends, doing things she needed to do.

Maybe the whole concept of freedom was too frightening to grasp, she thought as she felt herself drifting towards Fade and dreams. If she was suddenly freed, released from her servitude and this courtship arrangement and blood pool in one single day, she would not know what to do. What she wanted, or what she could do. It was best just to float along the current, and seize a moment when she could. Value small victories. She had won one today. No matter what happened, she would not bear another child ever again. Falon’Din, or Mythal, or eager puppy Solas could not make her, no matter how hard they tried. It was her choice, and she would stood behind it even when she eventually got caught. Maybe freedom could be taken that way. In small pieces she could obtain and handle.

It was something to consider, Roshan thought, and fell asleep.

 


	5. Mythal's High Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rift opens between Mythal and Falon'Din. In anger, Falon'Din makes a decision which changes Roshan's life.

Dirthamen found himself enjoying the obligatory visit to his mother far better than usually. Mythal’s parties were still boring, and Falon’Din complained about them frequently, but there were other benefits to arrangement. Duties given to servants were far more lax when they were outside their own holdings, and his own workload was diminished, too. After giving some thought to issue, he had found that he easily managed to steal Roshan away once or twice a day with nobody any wiser.

Today they were in a ridiculous gazebo June had gifted to Mythal. The building was hideous mess of different flashing colours and it gave headaches to people, but Dirthamen had found that one particular corner of three-shaped monstrosity was somewhat calmer green and actually almost pleasant place to be. Even though the light made everything look greenish, but he didn’t mind.

With more time in his hands, he found out that he didn’t wish to use it solely on sex. Sometimes, it was pleasing just to talk. Even though talking to a slave was odd behaviour, but nobody knew. He liked to sit on wide window bench, leaning against the wall, with Roshan’s back against his chest. She fit there nicely, and the colours were less garish in that direction, so it made sense to face the same way. Or Dirthamen was developing a dependency on cuddling. He was starting to feel it might be the case.  
”Do you like the new bed?” Dirthamen asked.  
“I tried it and it was very fluffy.” Roshan replied.  
“You tried it? It’s been over two months.” he remarked, combing a stray curl behind her ear.  
“Solas likes it very much.” she offered.  
“If Solas likes it and you tried it, where do you sleep, then?” Dirthamen asked.  
Roshan looked embarrassed and her face changed into that absent expression which meant she did not want to answer. But he had learned that in such occasion, a push was needed.  
“Where?” Dirthamen repeated.  
“I don’t spend much time in Solas’ room.” Roshan said in rehearsed manner. “Since I’m the only Unfallen at attendance, I feel it is more prudent to guard my lord’s safety.”  
“That is what you tell him and everyone else.” Dirthamen pointed out. “I’m not Solas.”  
Waiting, he crossed his hands over her middle, locking his fingers together. Another thing he had learned was that she was more likely to answer honestly if he held her.  
“On floor in Falon’Din’s bedroom. Unless someone entertains him. Then I don’t sleep.” she said. “Mythal’s guards don’t mind if I make few rounds at night. They are lax that way.”  
Dirthamen frowned.  
“Why? Is there something wrong with the bed?”  
”Yes!” she almost snapped at him. “There is Solas in it!”

 

There was something about discussion which kept bothering Dirthamen, and he started watching the boy. He was not entirely sure why, because whatever the matter was, it was not really his concern. But Roshan was distressed, that was obvious, and he couldn’t help but to feel worried. If the boy was abusive, if he treated her badly enough to send Roshan running to Falon’Din whom she definitely did not like, there were steps Dirthamen could take to end it. He could talk to Falon’Din, or simply put the boy in order by himself. He found that he wasn’t comfortable thinking she’d be bound for all eternity to someone who was violent, or abusive, or just plain cruel.

But even though Dirthamen watched from shadows and through the eyes of ravens, he did not see any evidence of abusive behaviour. The boy was courteous, and chatty, and suffering a bad case of puppy love. It was almost laughable to watch. It would have been, if Roshan hadn’t ran off every time the boy suggested something they could do together. Whether it was a walk in the gardens, or sitting by his side in servants’ dining hall. In latter case, she had simply stopped coming to meals.

But Dirthamen was not only one who had noticed Roshan’s attempts to avoid her fiancée at all costs.

 

“You should speak to your servant, Falon’Din. Solas came to me today and said that he has barely seen his partner for months. He is rightfully distressed about it.”, Mythal said one night as the Evanuris dined in privacy. The meal had been catered on open balcony facing the woods around Mythal’s palace. Night was darkening, and there was a peculiar scent of brimstone in the wind. Dirthamen wrinkled his nose. Not appetizing.  
“Why?” Falon’Din replied. “The deal is done and your slave got to dip his prick to consummate it. If he wants extra rounds, I’m sure that the jewel of literature you gave him would work better on your other servants.”  
There was gleeful mirth in his twins’ eyes, and Dirthamen kept his face carefully disinterested, watching the forest.  
“Not everything is about sex.” Mythal said coolly. “I care about happiness of my people. It keeps them loyal and devoted.”  
“As if there was a shortage of devotion in my ranks, mother. I should thank you, actually.” Falon’Din replied. “Thanks to your meddling, Lavellan is finally starting to come round. If I had only known that bartering her off to some spoiled boy frightens her into obedience, I would have done it years ago. It would have saved me lots of bother.”  
Like crushing the bones of her hands and healing them wrong, or torturing her until she miscarried. Dirthamen remembered very well what she had looked like, laying in a lake of her own blood. He felt a burning sensation in his chest. It was uninvited, and unpleasant.  
“It would save me lots of bother if I didn’t have to sit here and listen your domestic problems.” he cut in. “The wind smells, mother. That is a problem you should address if you expect me to dine with you.”  
Falon’Din wrinkled his nose.  
“That is true.” he agreed. “The stink is disgusting.”  
“It’s inevitable, I fear.” Mythal replied coolly. “The High Dragon who lives in my woods is preparing for a new clutching, so she has abandoned her offspring. An unknown stressor, perhaps, or maybe she has simply seen sense and decided that her children are not worth preserving. They don’t seem to be doing well on their own.”  
“Threats, mother?” Falon’Din rounded his eyes in fake worry.  
“I didn’t say so. But I would be immensely pleased if you two finally decided to grow up and take responsibility. Actually care about something.” Mythal noted.  
“I cannot believe you are criticizing me after I captured Era’Vun in a single day! Your soldiers tried to do it for years! The course of war has been changed, and still you complain--”, Falon’Din’s voice was starting to get loud and angry. Mother had injured his pride, Dirthamen knew. Falon’Din hated that.  
“I was not talking about war.”, Mythal interjected.  
“What else is there? We are gods, mother. What more do you want? What else I can do to prove your baseless suspicions wrong? I have given more souls to fuel this war than June’s inventions ever could, I’m better general than Andruil, and I’m far more intelligent than Dirthamen if you only could see it! I AM WORTHY!” Falon’Din’s anger was crackling in the air, pulling on Fade around them, but Mythal remained calm.  
“You are still a boy.” Mythal said, each word falling like a judgement from her lips.  
“One day, mother, you will understand that I am not a boy, but the greatest of Evanuris. On that day, you will regret bitterly that you ever turned your back at Me.”, Falon’Din hissed, his pale face flush with rage. He stormed out from the balcony, blasting Mythal’s guards aside when they didn’t move fast enough to give way to him.

Falon’Din’s passing was easily followed by distancing shouts and screams coming from the inside palace, Dirthamen noted. The rift which had just opened between his brother and mother felt unreal. It felt significant in a way Dirthamen did not like. Maybe this was just a flash of temper. Mother would soften her words, and apologize, and Falon’Din would find something else to think about and forget this. At least Dirthamen hoped so. But he couldn’t quite convince himself to believe it.  
Mythal looked at Dirthamen.  
“Dirthamen. As long as you keep hiding your head in a bush and pretending that things around you are not happening, that your feelings are not real and nothing is significant to merit your concern, you will never be happy.” her mother said bitingly. “You can’t live by simply floating through it all while the world burns around you. One day, something or someone will force you to take action, and I pray it isn’t too late for the People.”  
Dirthamen didn’t truly listen, because his mind was taken by sudden, sickening revelation. If Falon’Din was angry, if Falon’Din wanted to lash out at someone while they were in Mythal’s palace… Thinking of Falon’Din’s followers in attendance, there was one obvious choice who would stand out from the crowd.  
Dirthamen stood up, feeling a sudden rush of anxiety. A hollow spot under his breastbone was spreading. She would not bow. She would likely antagonize Falon’Din on purpose, to draw his wrath away from others. She would --- But what could he do?  
Dirthamen sat back down. Any interference by him would only make things worse. Best protection he could offer was to keep his distance and pretend Roshan meant nothing to him. But if he did not interfere, a small voice in his mind whispered, was it any worth when he said that he loved her? Did he love her, or was it just a figment of imagination? A soothing lie to tell himself, a slip of tongue? Or a truth he could not admit?  
He stood up again, taking a step towards door, but could not go further. The anxious worry in his mind built, and he fisted his hands. Dirthamen’s mind was a tangle of thoughts, and he couldn’t find the answer from it. All he knew that he felt sick when he thought of Falon’Din hurting her again.  
“Either go after your brother or sit down and eat.” Mythal snapped. “I’m sick of you hovering at my doorway.”  
Dirthamen walked through the doorway.

\--

Roshan couldn’t breathe. Her throat was on fire, and her feet were kicking in air, uselessly trying to reach the floor. Her lungs were burning, as she fought for breath, but Falon’Din’s fingers dug into soft flesh of her throat, denying air.  
“Enough.”, he growled, when Roshan’s vision was starting to explode in wash of red, and let her fall.  
“Get up.”, Falon’Din snapped.  
Every breath through her sore throat felt like a curse when she gasped for air, but she braced her palms against the floor and pushed herself up to face her god. Falon’Din’s eyes were literally burning with rage. She could see little flames inside the iris, and Roshan felt cold all over. If he was upset enough not to control his form properly, this would be much, much worse than anything she had gone through before.  
“My mother has mortally offended me. SHE DARES TO QUESTION MY MIGHT!” Falon’Din roared, walking back and forth as his servants cowed near walls, trying their best not to draw attention. Some of the younger ones were weeping soundlessly, and Roshan saw how Falon’Din’s valet and chamberlain were very slowly moving to slip little ones behind them, moving an inch every time Falon’Din turned away to walk towards her. Roshan steeled herself. Giving tiny nod to chamberlain, she waited until Falon’Din’s back was turned towards them and then spoke as loudly as she could with her aching throat.  
“You know that is not true, my lord.” she said. “Not one person in your realm has ever doubted the power you wield over us or among Evanuris.”  
Her compliment earned her a strike which sent her flying against the near wall. There was a flower pot made of crystal, and it shattered on impact. Her back was cut, and although the wound was shallow, it bled.  
“As it would matter what slaves think of me?” Falon’Din shouted at her. “You are not even worth of my notice! Or Mythal’s! You have no right to draw my mother’s attention!”  
Roshan’s head was throbbing, and she had bitten her tongue accidentally when she unexpectedly hit the wall. She scrambled up again, and as she looked at furious Falon’Din, something came over her. Her patience just snapped, like a string stretched too far.  
“I don’t want Mythal’s attention, or yours! I have never wanted attention from any of you. Can’t you just kill me already and be done with it!” Roshan screamed right back at Falon’Din.  
Falon’Din looked at her for a moment, and then he started to laugh. It was a beautiful sound, but utterly terrifying, and Roshan felt frozen inside as her words started to sink in. The people cowing near the walls avoided looking at her, keeping their gazes firmly fixed on the floor. Oh, fenedhis lasa.

The moment of Falon’Din’s laughter seemed to stretch for a long time inside Roshan’s mind. Some people said that impeding death changed one’s perception of time. Maybe it was that, she thought. Her mind was slow, but she could tell every little detail of the scene before him, from the earrings which decorated Falon’Din’s ears to little pearl buttons of his vest.  
“Wouldn’t you like that, Lavellan?” Falon’Din asked, when his laughter finally died.  
Roshan did not answer. Panic was building inside her.  
“You would.” Falon’Din decided. He almost purred. It was a bad sign. A very bad sign.  
He turned towards the arms master, a young woman with dark red hair like Roshan’s. She had been recently promoted to her position.  
“Bring her mask and armour. And one of my personal weapons. Torch, I think. Rest of you, get out.”  
Roshan could hear the frantic beating of her heart in her ears as she watched other servants hurrying out from the room. Nobody met her eyes, and she understood that she was going to die.

Torch of Falon’Din was a fire staff, and an excellent one at that. The gnarled wood was inlaid with seven different runes, adding speed and damage. It was far finer weapon than anything Roshan had ever touched, and Falon’Din placed it to her hands.  
“This is yours.” Falon’Din said. “You will slip away from the palace unseen and go in the woods. Then you will seek the High Dragon living in the forest, the one Mythal favours, and slay it with weapon I gifted you.”  
“It is a fire dragon, my lord.” Roshan said helplessly. A high dragon, sacred to Evanuris. And she had gotten a fire staff against a huge beast with a major fire resistance.  
Falon’Din’s smile was cruel.  
“You wanted to die, did you not? You know the punishment for killing sacred beast is death. If you fail in your mission, I swear that every last soul in your village is going to pay for it. I will give the task to Mathras and promise that he will have his former position among my Chosen back if he does the job properly. He holds a grudge against you after the demotion my brother demanded, and the opportunity to pay back might prove to be even larger incentive than a promise of rank.”  
Roshan swallowed.  
“If you succeed and get caught, you will die. There is no forgiveness for a slave who slays a dragon, and the weapon I gave you leaves very distinctive marks. The blade is enchanted, but fire channelled through it is not part of the enchantment. You will be judged by Elgar’nan, and I doubt my mother will intervene after losing her pet.”  
“My lord, I...”  
“You will leave now, and I suggest you hurry. I will send a search party to look for a runaway slave when sun rises.” Falon’Din told her.  
“What if I succeed and won’t get caught, my lord?” she asked.  
“You will bring me a dragon’s tooth as an evidence and return to my bedchamber before sunrise. When my mother finds out about sorry loss of her beloved pet, I will naturally be devastated, but you have spent whole night with me and there is nobody else in my service who would have even a slightest chance against such a beast. There is no reason for your village to die, or Mathras to be promoted to overseer, either.” Falon’Din said.  
There was only one thing she could say.  
“By your leave, my lord.” Roshan said, slipping the staff on her back. She felt for the wards on Falon’Din’s bedchamber window. As security went, they were rather rudimentary and easy to open. After few seconds of work, she slipped out in the darkening evening and vanished without another word.

Falon’Din smiled a small, narrow smile and closed the window after her.  
“You.”, he addressed the arms master. “Go and inform the slaves at door that I will receive no one. You will prepare a party to hunt down an escaped slave. Make it ready at sunrise.”

\--

 

“I’m sorry, honoured one, but my lord is not receiving.” the servant at Falon’Din’s door told Dirthamen.  
“Let me through.” he snarled.  
“My lord is upset and he is not—“  
Dirthamen grabbed the man’s chin and delved inside his mind. He navigated the depths of his memory with trained ease, pulling out a memory after another. Childhood in eastern part of Falon’Din’s realm – useless. First time he held a bow – nothing. Using force, Dirthamen willed to see what had transpired tonight, and the man’s eyes rolled over as the memory rose on surface.  
Falon’Din striding through the doors. His hand reaching, magic lifting Roshan up, crushing her throat. Her hands clawing uselessly, fighting for breath. Her face turning red, then blueish, Falon’Din dropping her on the floor. A relief and gratefulness flooding the slave’s memory, when she stepped forwards and drew Falon’Din’s ire to herself. Roshan flying across the room, hitting the wall with sickening sound. _Can’t you just kill me already and be done with it!_ His brother laughing, purring, summoning the arms master. Relief when the slave escaped the room.

Dirthamen let the unconscious slave fall from his grasp. He fixed his gaze on another slave standing on guard. The anger burned inside him like a living being.  
“Bring me Falon’Din’s arms master. I have questions.” he ordered.  
The slave nodded nervously and hurried through the door. Dirthamen waited standing next to unconscious man, and his fingers left little half-circles in the soft flesh of his palms. He loved his brother, but he did not think he could forgive Falon’Din if Roshan died. This could not go on. He hated feeling the anxiety build inside him, not knowing what had happened, and not being able to stop it. He was an Evanuris, and this was not right. He would not suffer this a moment longer.

Fifteen minutes later Dirthamen knew exactly what had happened, and there was no time to waste. He left Falon’Din’s arms master laying on the same pile with his first informant and changed his form. A raven flew through the open window, heading towards the woods.

\--

 

It was first time she had seen a grown dragon up close, and likely the last. The sacred beast was glorious. Even though it was very dark, Roshan saw the faint glimmer of stars reflecting back from red scales. She understood that there was no way she could kill it on her own. Ever. Maybe all five Unfallen working together, armed with weapons of frost as powerful as Torch, but on her own, she had no hope. She drew her staff, gripping it with shaking hands as she quietly moved closer to beast laying in a middle of large clearing. She blinked back tears, thinking of her village and how she had failed them all. Her mother and her sisters, the elders, her Keeper…

The massive beast raised its head, nostrils flaring. Roshan had made sure to approach it under wind, but she did not know much more about hunting, or dragons. The book Mythal had given to her was still in room she shared with Solas but never used. Now she regretted not reading it, because dragon’s sense of scent was apparently much sharper than she had expected, and it looked like beast had smelled blood still slowly trickling down her back.  
She swallowed, hoping against hope that she was wrong, but then the dragon spoke.  
“Aldoer, vrak. Svabol tepohaic shinalta ekess wux? Wux vorq bvecko.” the words were unintelligible, delivered in hissing, inhuman voice, but Mythal’s pet dragon was staring right at her.  
“I’m sorry.” Roshan whispered, not knowing what else to say. She did not understand what the dragon was saying. She hadn’t even known they were capable of speech, but the words did not seem to be hostile. If any, the tone of strange voice was kinder than what Falon’Din used. It sounded almost worried.  
“Creolna tepohaic ouith wux?” dragon hissed, standing on four feet. “Wux vorq xuut, shar dout iejir smells harkt. Svaust tepohaic imprisoned wux sari nomeno mamiss, hianag?  
Roshan’s hands were shaking worse. Even though the bones had been healed, she was upset enough to lose fine control required. The dragon moved its great head closer, and it was definitely sniffling her now. The black eyes were watching her. Panicking, Roshan focused her magic, calling blood forth from the shallow wound she had gotten when Falon’Din had thrown her across the room. She tried to reach for the dragon in same manner she had controlled the dragonling earlier. Her magic brushed against strange, alien presence, but it was much stronger than with dragonling. No matter how much she tried to push through, the bindings of spirit she weaved just broke against dragon’s mind.  
“Sia poor suorra. Tangis dout ricin ui xuut.” the dragon rumbled, sounding upset.  
The great head surged downwards, and Roshan screamed when she was suddenly caught in dragon’s jaws. Falon’Din’s torch fell from the grasp, and she closed her eyes, praying that her death would be quick. But the teeth holding her securely did not bite down. They merely held her.  
Mythal’s high dragon started walking towards the mouth of a cave, carrying her like a dog returning an escaped pup back to nest.

 

In service of Falon’Din, Roshan had witnessed many strange and uncomfortable situations. She liked to think herself as a person who could handle most unexpected changes in life gracefully, and who didn’t get upset easily. But Mythal’s pet dragon defied all rules, and Roshan was beyond panic, now. She had gotten through the alarmed stage right into shocked stage and past that. Her mind was crisp and clear, but the happenings made so little sense that she was halfway convinced that she might have gotten poisoned or hexed without noticing it. Because there was no reason whatsoever why Mythal’s dragon had removed her armour by magic, licked her clean with two-forked tongue from toes to hair and then deposited her securely between its great front legs, muttering something which sounded angry and disapproving. She was covered in dragon’s drool, naked, and the High Dragon was glaring at Falon’Din’s mark on her face, looking absolutely bloodthirsty. It lifted a front leg, pressing one sharp nail over the second symbol tattooed on her heart. Roshan trembled with fear. Maybe dragons liked to play with their prey before eating? At least a nail through heart would be a quicker death than she would expect from Falon’Din.  
“Please be quick about it.”, she said in shaking voice. “Falon’Din will punish me for failing him.”  
“Falon’Din. Wer pobon di wer pronlel, si ocuir.” it hissed, sounding vengeful. “Si zklaen duulo wux de nomeno adon.”  
Roshan blinked. It was answering to her, saying something about Falon’Din. It had to understand her, somehow, even though she didn’t understand it.  
“I was told to kill you because Falon’Din is angry at Mythal. He wants a tooth for a proof, otherwise he will kill me and everyone I care about. I don’t want to kill you, and I don’t think I can.”, Roshan spoke fast. It was ridiculous, and desperate, but anything was worth the shot. “Please help me.”  
The merciless look in black eyes softened, and the dragon spoke in voice which sounded oddly comforting in Roshan’s ears. Dragon lifted its foreleg from her heart, moving the limb towards its mouth.  
“Tir ti l'gra, suorra. Dask geou xurwk wux versvesh aurthon ekess thirku spical. Falon'Din geou ti tepoha wux.” the dragon promised solemnly. It bit through the strong scales of front leg and Roshan saw a black blood dwelling from a gaping wound. She opened her mouth to ask, but there was no time, because the dragon brought the leg down again and imprisoned her between the claws. A black blood spurted in her mouth, and she tried to scream, because it burned like vitriol.  
“Tir ti ulnot, suorra. Dask vucotic coi ouithic, shar coi geou xurwk wux versvesh. Shio thirkuic ouith.” the dragon cooed and Roshan fainted.

\--

“Ah. Mythal’s young drake arrives.” the red dragon greeted Dirthamen as he walked inside the vast cave.  
He had spent too long searching through forest. First he had found the weapon from the ground, forsaken, and picked it up. From a cave mouth, it had been easy to follow a trail of discarded pieces of black armour, forcibly pried open and bent. The silver mask had been last, marking the large tunnel leading to west. He had seen several drakes but no dragonlings, proving Mythal’s prediction right. But Mythal’s pet was here, or maybe the pet was not the right word, because the creature spoke in draconic.  
“I come to search for an elf.” Dirthamen replied in same language.  
“There are no elvhen here. Not me, and not you.” the dragon denied. “There is a place for wingless male in my harem, if you wish to apply.”  
The dragon smirked at him, an amused glint in black eye.  
“I doubt my mother would approve.” Dirthamen replied coolly. Even though he could take the form of divine, his inability to grow wings was a sore spot. Mythal had been very disappointed to find out that her sons were as unable to learn the form of High Dragon as June or Elgar’nan. It was not something the Evanuris liked to talk about. Sometimes Dirthamen thought that adding Andruil, Ghilan’nain and Sylaise into pantheon had much to do with his mother’s fascination with dragons, and her insistence on their importance for Elvhenan’s stability. Mythal said that dragons were an indicator for the magical state of their world. Dirthamen wasn’t convinced if it was true.  
He looked around, looking for a trace of Roshan, and found it. Mythal’s dragon was hiding something. There were few red curls peeking between dragon’s head and front leg.  
“You lied.” Dirthamen said forcefully, glaring at the dragon. “You are hiding an elf I seek. Do you think I am blind?”  
“There are no elvhen here.” dragon said again. “Only me, and you, and my poor tortured child. Someone has twisted her beyond recognition, thinking I would not know her. But I know the scent of her blood. The most promising daughter of my latest hatch.”  
The dragon sniffed, poking its great head at the body between its front legs.  
“Poor baby. She is befuddled, and doesn’t even understand speech. I burned the vile markings of Falon’Din off her face and heart, but instead of getting better, her skin just weeps, and I don’t know how to heal it.”  
Dirthamen tasted bile rising to his throat. He willed himself to stay calm, and said:  
“A form of an elf does not take well to dragon’s breath. The skin of elvhen does not resist fire like yours does. If you haven’t killed her yet, you must let me to tend her.”  
Dragon gave him suspicious look, clearly considering it. Then it slowly lifted its head up, nodding.  
“You may help to my poor child. But I will watch you, Mythal’s son. If you try to hurt my daughter, I will slay you where you stand.”

Roshan’s face was charred and dry. The skin was melted, and the flesh no longer wept, leaving a discoloured canvas of white and black. She was mercifully unconscious, and Dirthamen cast a spell to keep her so, even though he knew that with burns this deep she would not feel any pain. The nerve endings were gone.  
“You are an idiot!” he yelled to dragon. “I came here to save her, and you have ruined her face so badly it will take months to heal, even with people who know what they are doing.”  
“She was bound, and I sought to set my dragonling free.” dragon replied. “I did not know she was so much changed that she could no longer enjoy the feel of fire in her skin.”  
Dirthamen strongly considered telling the dragon that she was a delusional fool, whose sense of scent was worth nothing, and Roshan was not a dragonling and had never been one, but telling the truth would have likely ended with her death. It was far better not to correct the misunderstanding if he was going to get them both out from here.  
“Can’t you see?” he asked instead. “You have ruined her sight and everything with your misinformed actions. This level of damage is going to kill her if she is not getting help, soon.”  
“But you are already helping her.”, the dragon said sullenly.  
“She needs specialized healer. A group of very good healers, who can keep her painless, and asleep, while they start to rebuild the melted flesh and nerves and everything beneath. It will take months, and even longer still, before she is fully recovered. I can’t do all that alone in a cave without supplies or any equipment, or spirits to help with healing.” Dirthamen snapped.  
“You are angry.” dragon remarked with interest. “You came here to search for my child, and now you are angry because she is hurt. She is too young to be properly courted, and you are not ready either, but are you cavorting her favour?”  
Dirthamen was far too busy to answer such an idiotic query. He was laying a cooling spell over a cooling spell, to stop fire damage from getting any deeper in Roshan’s flesh.  
“It is proper for a drake to bring back prey to one’s daughter, and care for her so she will grow strong and lay many eggs.”, dragon added, watching him with new interest. “I have seen your true form. It is not bad. I could mate with you if you weren’t so disrespectful. But that can be thrilling, too.”  
Dirthamen gave an unbelieving glance at dragon.  
“You are out of your mind.” he informed the creature. “There is no way I would ever agree to mate with you.”  
The dragon cackled.  
“Of course not.” it said, sounding almost pleased. “Drakes are monogamous once they are chosen by a high dragon. If you aren’t, she will eat you. I ate my second drake. It was a shame, because he was very delightful to mate with. We flew in circles, chasing each other and finally coupled in the sky above Arlathan after he had outran all others pursuing me.”  
The dragon sighed sentimentally, looking around the cave.  
“Since there are not any other competing drakes here yet, you win.” it decided. “And maybe this puny, two-legged form of yours will work until she gets better. You may take my baby and heal her.”  
Dirthamen did not wait for dragon to change its mind. They were fickle creatures, and this one was too much like his mother to be trusted. He pulled off the bear-skin cloak from his shoulders and wrapped Roshan in it carefully, trying not to move her any more than necessary. He was just lifting her in his arms when the dragon’s forked tongue flickered by his neck.  
“On one condition.” the beast whispered. “You will not give her back to Falon’Din. Otherwise I will come, and burn Mythal’s estate down, and all my children will come and make him pay for twisting and ruining their poor sister. Swear, or you will not leave this place alive.”  
“I swear I will take her to my own holdings, where she will be cared for until she is healed.” Dirthamen said smoothly. He could not keep Roshan from Falon’Din forever, but the dragon did not need to know that.  
“Good.”, the dragon replied. He felt a rush of magic, and then a dragon spat one of its teeth at Dirthamen’s feet.  
“A proof of my untimely death.” the creature said. “Take it to your brother, and tell your mother that the slight her hatchling committed against mine will not be forgiven. I and mine will leave Mythal’s lands before the sun rises, and we will not return until my child comes back to us, in her true form and good health.”

\--

“I found her from the woods. And this.” Dirthamen said, balancing the burden in his arms. He handed the dragon’s tooth to Falon’Din, who wore a look of surprise on his face.  
“So she actually did it. Who would have thought.” his twin mused. “And the body?”  
“I destroyed it.”, Dirthamen lied. “You know mother will never forgive you if she finds out.”  
“That is part of the charm.” Falon’Din said, turning the tooth in his hands. He cast a spell to identify the origin, and then nodded, satisfied.  
“There is a problem.” Dirthamen said, pulling the cloak away just enough to let Falon’Din see.  
“Ugly.” Falon’Din grimaced. “Damage from dragon fire is too easy to tell apart. Mother will know the moment she sees her.”  
“Everyone knew she was unhappy after you gave her to Solas. You can tell mother that she has ran off, and offer your help in looking for an escaped slave. I will take her to my estates and see this fixed. My people know how to keep their mouths shut.”  
“You are so unexpectedly helpful, brother.” Falon’Din raised his eyebrows.  
“What else can you do?” Dirthamen retaliated. “Your lands will be searched first if mother suspects anything. The rest of the dragons are leaving, even the smallest ones, after the death of their progenitor.”  
“That is true.” Falon’Din allowed. “All right. You may keep her for a century or two. It should be long enough to distract mother and come up with a believable lie. I will simply let it slip that I’m training another Unfallen to take over Lavellan’s position so I have full squad against Anaris, and reinstate her to be second-in-command for Vunora when she is sufficiently healed. All of them wear masks anyway.”  
“I must be on my way. You can pass my apologies to mother and say that she insulted me and I had no wish to stay.” Dirthamen announced.  
He was on his way towards the eluvian reserved for his private use in Mythal’s estate, when his brother spoke.  
“Dirthamen.”  
“Yes?”  
“Don’t forget that you can’t keep her. You are starting to behave in a way which I don’t like. It almost feels like you disapprove of my treatment of Lavellan.”  
“What you do with your slaves changes nothing between us. You are my twin soul, and that is a bond which cannot be broken or replaced by anything else.” Dirthamen replied without turning his head.  
“Keep that in mind. I will see you when it is time to strike against Anaris.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translated draconic-to-english dialogue on my tumbrl. But it's a major spoiler, so don't go peeking unless you want to.  
> https://umerue.tumblr.com/day/2016/03/20


	6. Dirthamen's gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen sets events in motion to give Roshan the gift she would like most. NSFW.

Dirthamen did not like to share.

It was a simple fact behind the honeyed words he poured in Sylaise’s pretty ear.  
“Blessed Sylaise.” his voice was rich with amused mockery. “Is that what you demand your people to call you now?”  
“Nobody ever got power by being meek.”  
“I did.” Dirthamen disagreed.  
“You are as meek as a shark. Or maybe a snake. A grey snake slithering in grass.” Sylaise raised a hand on her mouth and licked her fingers clean. There was blood under long, painted nails. Dirthamen’s back stung like Void, but he ignored it, keeping a faint smile on his face.  
“I simply think it’s interesting that the person who boasts to rival Elgar’nan’s light and Mythal’s cities, is still limited in her most sacred domain by the simplest of creatures.”, Dirthamen remarked.  
That got Sylaise’s attention. She fixed her amber eyes on Dirthamen, pleased expression replaced by angry passion. Her spirit was fiery, Dirthamen acknowledged, but he had found out long ago that like most fires, Sylaise’s flame burned with too much heat, lots of noise, and nothing of substance left inside.  
“You know I hate it when you play riddles.” Sylaise warned.  
“It is not a riddle. Simply a realization I had on other day when I gave some thought to sacred bonds between people.” Dirthamen said lazily. “Have you ever considered it, Sylaise? The nature of bond joining two lovers for a lifetime?”  
A flicker of triumph flashed in Sylaise’s eyes. It was gone soon, but not quickly enough to escape Dirthamen’s notice. He knew full well how Sylaise’s mind worked. She thought that this was finally the discussion Sylaise had waited for a better part of last eight hundred years, but Dirthamen had no intention of ever going down that route. Possible gains were not worth getting stuck with a woman who thought that enthusiasm in bed was best demonstrated by digging her nails into his flesh.  
“I might have.” she said with a deceivingly sweet smile.  
“Excellent. Then you might have answer for my question. Why do you allow slaves to limit and undermine your authority by partaking one of most sacred conventions of our society? Our authority?”  
“What do you mean?” Sylaise asked, the warmth of her smile vanishing.  
“I’m speaking about bonds, naturally. Why do you allow slaves to subject themselves to bonds? Almost everything in our world is reversible, but a bond is not. There is no hope of getting out of it, ever. Even if a slave belonging to you was gifted to me and his vallaslin was changed to reflect it, he would be still bonded to his partner, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. It limits my options to use him, and it ridicules the sacredness of the rite. Slaves are animals. Since when we have allowed dogs to play house and act like real people?” Dirthamen asked theoretically.  
Adding more fuel to her fire, he continued lightly:  
“The current practice affects all of Evanuris, and I think it makes your song somewhat… conflicting? If your breath is supposed to rival Andruil’s spear, and still you can’t do a thing to break a bond between two slaves once it is sealed.”, Dirthamen widened his eyes.   
He smiled, reaching to brush the curve of Sylaise’s bared breast with his fingertips.  
“This is just a thought, really. But I wouldn’t want you to be ridiculed like this.”  
“I won’t be.” Sylaise whispered, more to herself than him.  There was a polite smile fixed to her face as she pushed his hand away.  
“I’m sorry to cut our dalliance short, my sweet prince, but there are important matters I must address. You will stay for a dinner?”  
“Unfortunately, I can’t. There are issues I must attend to in my lands before the council meeting. But I will see you in Arlathan next spring. Winter will pass quickly, and you will scarcely notice I’m gone.” Dirthamen replied smoothly and pulled her closer.  
For the rest of their encounter, Sylaise was clearly distracted, her mind focused elsewhere, and his poor ravaged back did not suffer further injuries. A mission well accomplished.

 

\--

“Are you ready?” a disembodied voice of Wisdom asked.  
“As ready as I can be.” Roshan said. She walked through the room confidently, probing forwards with her magic. The weaves of spirit she wove hit an obstacle. Quickly, she spread the weaves around, making out the shape of item. It was a bed. Hers. Pleased, she sat down on the edge.  
“You got it very quickly this time.” Felassan’s voice congratulated. “Excellent.”  
“Are you worried because this was your last chance to trick me into walking a pond which was not supposed to be there?” Roshan grinned.  
“Hardly.” Felassan sniggered. “Getting your sight back doesn’t mean you suddenly become immune to my talents. I have more tricks in my sleeve than just moving the furniture around or creating unexpected pools of water.”  
“If you spent more time focusing on your work and less time teasing our patient, I would appreciate it.”, the voice of older woman informed them. It was voice Roshan had listened for a very long time. Years, she thought, and smiled.

Inolan had been there from the beginning, when she first woke up from the long sleep and got badly startled when she could not speak or see. Inolan had consoled her, telling that she had been grievously hurt by fire and Inolan had kept her in healing sleep for months. Her vallaslin was gone, Inolan had explained, burned off her skin by dragon’s fire, and the damage to her mind had taken much longer to heal than her physical injuries. There had been no records of forcibly removed vallaslin before, or about the consequences to a person. Lord Dirthamen had felt that it was better to play it safe, Inolan explained, and Roshan had let out a breath, relaxing. She was in a house high in a mountains, Inolan said, safe in Dirthamen’s realm, and Inolan was the healer charged to see her well again.

Wisdom had joined Inolan when they started to work her physical injuries, growing back the flesh and bones and skin on her face. Wisdom sat by her while Inolan worked, telling stories and explaining what was happening. There was not much pain, but most of the things Inolan did felt uncomfortable, and the gentle voice of spirit talking to her made discomfort easier to bear. The spirit was old friend of Dirthamen’s, it told Roshan, and promised to keep her company while he could not.

Felassan was third and last addition to small group which cared for her. He was a healer specialized in vision, and his task had been to teach Roshan how to handle the world around her without sight. He said that there was no reason for her to be useless and just sit in a chair just because she could not see, and with proper instruction, Roshan should be able to do anything she did before she lost her eyes. She had thought his proclamation was delusional, and told him that, but he had proved him wrong. He got started her with walking inside the house while he moved furniture around so she couldn’t rely on memory. From there they progressed to cooking, then walking outside in the mountains, and finally to sparring with proper, bladed weapons. And because he was Felassan, snarky and young, he added that it might be just the extra edge she needed not to end up becoming his patient again.

Things had changed after she woke up. At the beginning, she had itched horribly, and scratched her body bloody until Wisdom had figured out that warmth helped. They had filled a bath tub with hot water, and soaking in steaming water had eased her discomfort. It had eventually reached a point where Wisdom had to be the one helping her fill the tub, because Inolan said the water was boiling, but it felt just nice to her. It didn’t hurt. On other hand, she was ridiculously sensitive to cold, and Felassan mocked her for wearing a fur cloak inside the house when it was winter. It was the cloak she had when Dirthamen had brought her here, Inolan had mentioned. Roshan didn’t remember anything on how she had arrived, but the fur was luxuriously soft and deliciously warm when she stroked it. Inolan had tried to ask her about her injuries, but she didn’t remember how she had gotten them. It was likely a mercy, Roshan thought. She remembered Falon’Din threating her village, and her desperation when she slipped away from Mythal’s palace to search for a dragon. It was plausible that she had actually found a dragon, Felassan had said dryly, and his morbid humour had made Roshan laugh.

She no longer had the connection to Falon’Din’s lake of blood. But there was something else wrong with her. Especially when she got hurt. The itch started again, worse, and it concentrated on particular spot between her shoulder blades. Every one of her three healers had looked it for dozen times, and they all said there was nothing special on that spot, but Roshan knew differently. The itch felt like she was going to explode through her own skin. There was a rush much like being drunk on power of blood magic, except it came from the inside, not drawn through a connection to Falon’Din. There was alarming feeling of change, something out of her control, and if she got panicked, she couldn’t hold it. When Felassan had started to recreate the little lines connecting her mind to her eyes, it had hurt badly, and Roshan had broken off the ropes just by pulling her hands, needing the pain to stop. It had frightened them all, and Roshan more than others. Felassan had eased them all by wondering what their lord would reply when he wrote asking for stronger restrains to tie his lord’s guest to her bed. The answer he had gotten was rather snarky, Felassan had later added, underlining that Dirthamen expected Felassan to keep his behaviour professional or he would be transferred to treat tropical diseases in northern colony. Felassan hated jungles. He said they were full of colourful bugs and sweat.

“I’m ready.” Roshan said, drawing a breath as she heard Felassan opening a drawer.  
“I will talk you through it, and when it is done, tomorrow will be different.” Wisdom said gently.  
“Yes.”, Roshan replied. “I hope it will be a fine-looking day.”  
“I hope so too.” Felassan said, and Roshan tensed as she felt first pricks behind her eyes. They hurt.  
“I thought you liked all kinds of weather.” Roshan remarked, hissing sharply between her teeth.  
“I do. But even though I’ve gotten handsome compensation for these years I’ve spent up here, I’m happy to have few months’ vacation. I’m a city boy at heart, remember. Secluded mountain huts aren’t really my thing. I’ve already leased a room from House of Healers at Sundermount, and I’m looking forwards to a winter spent arguing finer points of optometry with foolish people who think they know something better than I.”  
“You are leaving?” Roshan asked, feeling suddenly very lonely. A pressure was building in her skull, and she pressed her lips together tightly, trying to not to cry out.  
“We are all leaving, dear.” Inolan said gently. “When this is done, you are healthy again, and won’t need us. We all have been encouraged to spend winter elsewhere. I’m going to visit my son who serves in Elgar’nan’s peace keeping force, and write to my daughter who lives in Arlathan. But I will see you in spring, I think. You can come to visit me at my daughter’s house in Arlathan and I will check how you are doing.”  
Inolan squeezed Roshan’s hand.  
“And I’m a part of my lord’s procession to Evanuris’ war council, naturally.” Felassan said as the pressure built higher. There was something sparkly appearing in the darkness Roshan had gotten so accustomed to. It felt very odd to see anything, even though it was not much more than few silvery sparkles on black background.  
“I was given a message for you.” Wisdom said kindly. “He said he should be here in a week or two.”  
“Who?” Roshan asked.  
“Our lord Dirthamen, of course. He’s throwing us all out to spend winter here with you.” Felassan said, and Roshan could hear the smirk. “Do you see the sparkles yet?”  
“I do.”, Roshan managed to say.  
“Focus on them and see if you can make out the changes in colour. List them out for me.”  
“Silver. Fading to blue.” she said, breathing heavily to push out the pain. It felt like there was electricity running from the base of her skull towards her eyes. “Fading to purple, to black, brightening to white, yellow...”  
“Excellent.”, Felassan said cheerily. “When you see the transformation from red to crimson, that part will hurt.”  
The sparks turned orange, and the world exploded in her field of vision. Roshan could not hold it. A scream of pain was pulled out of her, and she scarcely heard Felassan saying:  
“I lied. It was from yellow to orange.”  
“I swear I will kill you, Felassan.” she cursed, blinking furiously. The pain was subsiding fast, and she felt Inolan’s soothing magic moving over her head. A soft cloth dabbed over her eyes, wiping away her tears, and Roshan blinked. Slowly, the world above her came to focus. It was watery at first, but each heartbeat sharpened it, and the hurt ebbed away.  
She saw Inolan’s smiling brown eyes, and a handkerchief she had used. Wisdom smiled, still holding her hand. It looked like female elf with short brown hair and fade-green eyes.  And Felassan, who was as cocky as she had thought.  
“Your face is narrow like a fennec’s.”, Roshan said to Felassan. “I knew it.”  
“There is apparently something wrong with your vision, because I’m handsome and blond. Like I’ve told you many times before.”  
“Your hair is mud-brown, not blonde. And someone should cut it. It looks shoddy.” Roshan replied crankily.  
Inolan grinned.  
“That is what I’ve been telling him for years.” she said.  
“How many fingers I’m holding up?” Felassan asked.  
“You aren’t holding up your hand at all.” Roshan informed him.  
“Correct. I’m officially declaring you healed. There are still few tests I will run tomorrow morning before our ride comes, but this was the hard part, and we all deserve a celebration.” Felassan grinned. “I think I still have a bottle of Sylaise’s winery red stashed somewhere, and I’ve waited for years to open it.”  
“It was not by accident you asked me to bake those little cakes yesterday?” Roshan asked as Inolan opened her restrains.  
“No, it was not.” Inolan smiled. “A celebration should include cakes.”

It was late, and Roshan was very tired, but she was just so happy sitting outside on a bench and watching the stars above. It was beautiful sight. Everything was beautiful after seventy years of sleep and fifty years of blindness. She was in company of friends, and everything was quiet and calm around her.  
“Living here has been one of the nicest periods in my life.” she said dreamily to Felassan, who sat next to her.  The healer snickered.  
“Yeah, the part where your face had to be built again from a scratch.” he said ironically. “If you keep saying things like that, I have to refer you to a mind healer for post-traumatic stress reaction.”  
“You are hopeless.” Roshan shook her head. “I’m trying to say that I will miss you all. You have been very kind to me.”  
“It wasn’t that hard.” Felassan said, taking a swig from the bottle. “I have to admit I was not eager to come here at first. Taking a vow of silence to treat a nameless patient with horrifying injuries and living decades in seclusion does not sound like a great job, even if it comes from our lord directly. But you turned out to be much nicer than I expected. Even with your affinity to boiling baths and ridiculous problem with cold.”  
He nibbled a cake and licked his lips. Felassan had a sweet tooth, Roshan knew.  
“Now that the job is done, I’m curious. Why such secrecy? We had a very precise instructions on how to recreate your face like it was, but I don’t remember seeing you among our lord’s servants. You must have been high-ranking for him to arrange this whole thing.”  
“That’s because I have never been his servant.” Roshan said simply.  
“Ah. That explains quite a lot.” Felassan said. “He stole you?”  
“I think so.”, Roshan replied. “No, I hope so. But I don’t think it is going to be as simple as that. My lord Falon’Din is extremely possessive of his property.”  
Felassan whistled quietly.  
“I get the need for secrecy, then. Things I heard about the Guide before I came here were worrying, even though I have never been one for politics. But don’t fret. The oath of  silence we had to swear is permanent one, and nobody knows the cabin is up here.”  
“I’m not a fretting type, Felassan. You are thinking of one of your admirers, now. Have you already tuned your lute to sing under their windows?” Roshan asked, eager to change subject.  
“Naturally. First, I’m going to target Sylva of Sycadonia, a beautiful and influential surgeon who needs a young talent by her side. Then Yvaine, who has sweetest lips I’ve ever seen and a thing for fixing people’s brains…”  
“You are a hopeless social climber, Felassan.”  
“I’m merely looking for an advantageous match, you know. A beneficial bond with good connections can take a man far in world of medicinal trade. Especially a man as dashing as I.”

\--

After she regained her vision, Roshan spent much of the day just wandering around the tiny valley between two high mountains. The view was breath-taking, and she was alarmed to see how steep most of the familiar paths truly were. It gave her chills to understand how carelessly she had walked them, relying in a staff and her magic while Felassan followed behind. It was true that she had developed rather excellent sense of her surroundings without a vision, but seeing the bottomless gorge cutting the path into mere four widths of a hand was unsettling. It was a part Felassan had described “a bit narrow, honey, so take care”.

She didn’t really notice the passage of time, being too busy with studying familiar surroundings with literally new eyes. The day was indeed beautiful; one of those sunny but a bit crisp autumn days when colours bloomed and the weather was cool, but not chilly yet. There was a small mountain lake where Felassan had lured her once, and the serene surface offered the first chance for Roshan to see what had happened to her.

Her face was much the same it had always been. There were few subtle differences, or her memory was making tricks. But there was one thing which had definitely changed, and it was her eyes. They were no longer blue, but golden. It was unsettling. Roshan could recall seeing that particular amber colour on one person before, and it was Mythal.

She was still watching her reflection, and wondering why Felassan had constructed it so – her friend had said that they had instructions to make her as she had been – when another shape appeared on the surface of water.  
“They said that they couldn’t make blue stick, no matter how hard they tried, so I told them to let it go. It would have hurt you to keep trying.” Dirthamen answered her unasked question.  
“I don’t mind.” Roshan said.  
She stood up to face him. She was still short enough to fit comfortably under his chin, she thought, and cursed herself in next breath for being so silly. It was not like she had been burned a head shorter in an accident she couldn’t even recall.  
“It has been long time since I saw you.” she said, feeling shy all the sudden. “You look much better now when we are not in June’s horrible gazebo.”  
He acknowledged it with a faint smile and a small nod.  
“You look much better now than when I last saw you.” Dirthamen replied.  
“What happened?” Roshan asked, bracing herself. She needed to know.  
“I found you from the woods under a care of deranged dragon who believed you were her hatchling, twisted by Falon’Din into a form of an elf.  She had attempted to ‘free’ you from your false form by burning off my brother’s markings, and seemed genuinely surprised when you didn’t have a fire resistance of a dragon.” Dirthamen said.  
Roshan was silent. She crossed her hands behind her back, looking uneasy.  
“I did not mean to unsettle you.” Dirthamen said after a moment. “It was a grievous sight.”  
“It was... It is not what unsettles me.”, Roshan said quietly. “It’s the other thing.”  
“Which thing?”  
“Since I have no slave markings, did the dragon actually free me?”  
Dirthamen thought it carefully. The question, as important it was to her, was something which had not crossed his mind. There was no precedent for something like this. Nobody had ever lost her vallaslin before.  
“Falon’Din told everyone that you had escaped because Mythal had pressed you into courtship with Solas. The name Lavellan is listed in a file for escaped slaves, but the woman Andruil’s forces hunt for has blue eyes, red hair and markings of Falon’Din over her face and heart. Since my brother never bothered to ask for your first name, and it is not listed anywhere, and there is no vallaslin or magical connection to pool of blood, and your eyes are of different colour… I would be prepared to swear that you are not the person they are looking for if anyone dared to accuse you of such thing.” Dirthamen finished. He spread his arms theatrically and said:  
“Ar lasa mala revas, Roshan. You are free.”  
She was utterly still for a moment. Then a smile started from her eyes, spreading to her face, and it was radiant like a sunrise, Dirthamen thought. Bold, and joyful. Roshan took a step forwards and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her touch was familiar, and he felt himself unthinkingly relaxing under her hands. Her happiness was infectious, and Dirthamen found himself smiling at her.  
“My first kiss as a free person?” she asked, her golden eyes sparkling.  
“It will be my pleasure.” Dirthamen agreed, and bent his head down to kiss her.

\--

The dynamic between them had changed, Dirthamen thought. He couldn’t say for certain if Roshan had changed, or if she had been the same always, but the way he saw her had changed. Because he had never considered doing this to a slave, but maybe, Dirthamen mused, it was simply a matter of acquired taste. He liked hers. And he was rather fond of the helpless noises she made, too. He bent his head to his task and started to lick her folds, circling his tongue around her nub.  
“Dirthamen. I’m sitting by a window. Your guest is staring.” Roshan said. His unbuttoned shirt was too big for her, but it framed her body so well. It was only thing she wore. Dirthamen appreciated.  
< _Who cares? >,_ he inquired mentally, slipping her thighs on his shoulders. He pulled her hips forwards and felt her tremble. _< I’m the Keeper of Secrets. People stare at me all the time.>_  
“Yes, but I’m not used to—“, her answer was cut short by his tongue flicking teasingly inside her.  
_< After centuries of having sex in secret among vegetables or in closets or in ugly gazebos prone to provoking headaches, I simply want to take you in civilized surroundings and make it as public as I can without fucking you on dinner table. During a dinner.>  
_He felt her shiver, and open her legs a bit wider. Dirthamen took it as an encouragement to go on. _  
<But I think I will have you on dinner table, gaidhalas. And my study, again, since you look wonderful sitting naked on my windowsill. And in bedroom. And most of the other rooms I can think of later.>_  
Roshan was biting her lip, looking wonderfully flushed, but he was not fooled by her visible restraint. Dirthamen could taste her wetness on his tongue.  
_< You secretly like the idea, don’t you? It is making you wet.>,_ he whispered in her mind. _< But this is how it’s going to be now, vhenan. You are a free woman, and can do what you want. Especially when it means spreading your lovely legs and coming for me while a messenger waits behind the window.>_  
He redoubled his efforts, and she leaned back against the glass, arching her back while a moan escaped her lips. The sound of her made him hard, and Dirthamen decided that the messenger might have to wait a bit longer. They could try out the dinner table now.  
_< Simply because we can, Roshan>_, he told her.  
_< Yes. Come up here and kiss me. I want to taste myself on your mouth. >_, her insolent demand broke through his mental barriers, already opened a fraction for her. Spending the winter up in the mountains had not been a wasted effort at all. Mastering this particular spell took time.  
_< No.>_, he smiled against her skin, licking her in a way which always made her squirm. _< You are trying to rob me the fruits of my labour, vhenan.>_  
<But Dirthamen, vhenan, I-- >  
the sudden rush of her feelings flooding through their mental connection was intoxicating. There was lust, and the heady mix of pleasure, but under them, an undercurrent of warmth. Trust, he noted with surprise. Love. Dirthamen closed his eyes, lifting up his head just a bit to press wet kisses on her thighs, and felt a small tinge of wistfulness when the connection faded away, leaving him alone in his own mind.  
“Don’t be sad.” Roshan said, slipping down from the windowsill. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Dirthamen inhaled the scent of her warm skin – she was always very warm – mixed with arousal and a faint trace of flowery perfume she had made two weeks past. He liked it. It was not strong and obnoxious scent. Without proper spells of protection, he got headaches from those.  
“We can always do it again.” she said, pressing her cheek against his. She frowned and pulled away.  
“Your face is all wet.” Roshan said disapprovingly and wiped her cheek on her sleeve. Or his sleeve, Dirthamen reminded himself. She proceeded to do same to him. “I can’t let you go out like this.”  
“Why not? I’m Evanuris. It would only add to my reputation, and nobody would dare to say anything.” Dirthamen remarked.  
“Sometimes I think you need a rundown of basic rules.” Roshan shook her head. “Turn your head, please. I need to get the right side, too.”  
“I don’t need to follow the rules. I can just twist them to my purposes.” Dirthamen resisted.  
“Just go get your message before the poor man freezes out there.” she said and stood up. “I’m going to dress up.”  
Dirthamen sighed mournfully as he watched her walk across the cabin. Morning sunlight dappled on her skin, making the thin fabric of his shirt practically see-through. It did nothing to help his uncomfortable state. The dinner table was required. In haste.  
“I heard you. Go out, Dirthamen.” his cruel heart informed, not bothering even to look at him.  
“But I would like to stay here with you instead.” he complained. “We could have a nap.”  
“I’m not that foolish that I wouldn’t know how naps with you usually end. The messenger has waited for a half hour already.” Roshan said.  
“But I don’t want to go out. I’m all hard, and it’s your fault. It’s very uncomfortable, and looks bad with robes.”  
“Vhenan, you just told me that you are an Evanuris and it will only add to your reputation.” Roshan replied, vanishing through the doorway leading to bedroom.  
Dirthamen knew she would not budge before he got rid of the man outside, so he stood up grudgingly and went to see who was bothering him.

His mood was much different when he returned back to cabin. It had been deceitfully easy to let himself forget there was a world outside their mountain valley, and it seemed that his stolen winter was rapidly coming to an end.  
“The official summons to meeting of Evanuris have arrived. I’m expected in Arlathan in a week.”  
The change in her was instant. Her posture straightened and he could almost see the sharpness taking over her features, Dirthamen thought. This was Roshan he remembered from Mythal’s palace. Slowly goading her to forget to think like an Unfallen and getting back the laughing woman from Falon’Din’s temple kitchen had taken months. It was like seeing a ghost.  
“Will you be gone for long?” Roshan asked, starting to button up.  
“You should come with me.”, Dirthamen said. “I could show you Arlathan. And agenda in the council of Evanuris might interest you. The messenger told me that Sylaise has prepared a move against the practice of allowing slaves to bond.”  
Roshan looked at him.  
“It is not much, and I had to sell it by telling Sylaise that slave bonds limited the influence of Evanuris, but it is a beginning. There is another, too. Solas has been preparing a research on slavery in Elvhenan under my orders for years, and it has been finally finished. It will be presented immediately after Sylaise’s proposal, and I believe few of Solas’ suggestions could be accepted by majority vote. There are those among Evanuris who seek balance, and taking away the bond but giving a change to win one’s freedom by valiant accomplishments in war is something which should gain the favour from Elgar’nan and Andruil, at least.”  
“You are wrong.” Roshan said quietly. “It is much. It is far better hope than anything else I ever had. My friends – Vunora, and poor Isenril – if the proposal is accepted, they could be freed. They have done more than enough. Isenril could go home, like he yearned. You can’t understand what it would mean to them.”  
The names she mentioned were not familiar to Dirthamen, but there were unshed tears in her eyes. Still she smiled through them.  
“I think that day is something I would like to see.” Roshan said softly.  
He nodded, gently combing her hair behind her ears. Sometimes great changes began from smallest of reasons, and the truth was that Dirthamen did not like to share.


	7. Ghilan'nain's tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghilan'nain throws a party in her tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on timeline: at this point of story, Evanuris are not widely regarded as gods yet. They are practically kings and queens of their own realms, but still somewhat "human" in the eyes of their followers. There have been attempts to change that, especially from Falon'Din (this is why he has a temple and Mythal has a palace), but the concept of Evanuris' divinity hasn't spread much further than Falon'Din's realm, where his followers are willing to say practically anything to keep their lives.

The Evanuris were gathering in Arlathan to discuss their plans for war, and plan the course of Elvhenan for next century. The processions were splendid thing to watch, and every able-bodied elf in the city came to see a glimpse of their leaders and their chosen to enter the city. Solas was no different in his awe. This meeting was his first. Last time the Evanuris had gathered, mere two decades after the unfortunate Event, he had been too distraught to participate. But this time he had a special task to perform. Solas had finally finished his research for Keeper of Secrets, and it was ready to be represented in the council of Evanuris. It was all written neatly in a large book he had carefully packed on his belongings when Mythal had gathered her favoured followers and left to Arlathan.

“Treatise on slavery in Elvhenan” was his life’s work, and something Solas was justly proud of. He had thought of everything. Every last detail from economy to sociology had been carefully considered and taken into account. He had studied those who worked in the fields or who were prisoners of war, the lowest of the low. Those slaves did not have luxury of names; they were referred by numbers or physical features they had. Solas had written about people serving well-off tradesmen, who were classified by ability to purchase and own a single slave. He had appraised the lives of slaves who were owned by nobles, and marked by them for a god they served. The practice had started from there, and spread like wildfire across Elvhenan in last thousand years. It was a visible show of fealty from nobles, and what nobles did first, the lower classes copied soon after. Many of Evanuris favoured those who paid open homage to their power.

In addendum, Solas had described lives of those few slaves who belonged to Evanuris themselves. They were the pride of their stock, the best their cities and villages had to offer for the owner of their realm. Solas had originally thought that many were more like vassals of sorts, a representatives of their clans in a court each Evanuris held, but Mythal who had read his book had advised Solas to remove the theory. Even though Dirthamen had ordered this work, Mythal said, there were limits Solas should not attempt to push. Slaves were slaves, not to be compared to courtiers, no matter how unfair it was or how many similarities there were. If he crossed the invisible borders, many beneficial changes he had suggested and which were easier to enact would not come to pass, Mythal had warned. Temperance was the key, she reminded him, and Solas nodded reluctantly.

Mythal’s advice sat ill with Solas, but he did as he was told and erased the chapter despite his misgivings. But when push came to shove, he thought unhappily, Mythal could order him to rewrite his whole book if she so wished. His bitterness over issue lingered even though it was a small thing compared to many others he had witnessed over the years. Mythal had always been kind, and understanding, especially after the Event.

The council of Evanuris took one month, and it was traditionally marked by several feasts thrown by most influential nobles of Arlathan and Evanuris themselves. Solas had been informed of what was expected of him as favoured follower of Mythal, and recently decorated war hero. It was his duty to accompany Mythal to first event held in Ghilan’nain’s city estate. It was a large fenced area on western side of the city. A wide crystal bridge led to highest floor of a crystal tower. The outer walls of tower and the bridge were made transparent so that Ghilan’nain’s guests could admire or bemoan strange and wondrous creatures wandering below. Because Andruil and Ghilan’nain were throwing the party together, it was to run for next three days, and there was going to be a hunt on second day. The prey, it was said, was to be a special surprise. Something yet unseen. Solas was not certain if hunting was going to be something he enjoyed. He had not tried it yet, and the opinions among Unfallen were not generally favourable to Andruil’s hunts. But to be honest, Unfallen did not think very highly of anything. They were close-mouthed and grim company to keep. It would do him good to make new friends, Mythal had said, and as Solas watched the crowds of beautiful people walking across the crystal bridge towards Ghilan’nain’s tower, he found himself agreeing to idea. The glittering ladies of court were far more interesting prey than Ghilan’nain’s monsters. No less dangerous, of course, but Solas was confident in his abilities.

“I have assigned your presentation to third day.” Mythal mentioned to Solas as they walked slowly along the crystal bridge. “Sylaise has informed me there is an issue she wishes to discuss tomorrow and on second day, there will be too much excitement about the hunt for people to concentrate on your agenda.”  
“It is very kind of you, my lady.” Solas said smoothly.  
Mythal smiled a sharp little smile.  
“I appreciate your ideas, Solas, but many of them are quite controversial. Finding support from the council will be hard enough even without distractions. I recommend that you try to approach members of the council in next two days and emphasize on benefits their benevolence in this matter could bring to them. “  
“Should I attempt to discuss with them directly, or—“, Solas queried.  
“In most cases, it would be prudent to approach a favoured follower instead. You could go directly to Dirthamen, since he gave you the task, but I doubt others are willing to spend their evening in intellectual debate. Give something of value to June and Sylaise, and they will agree to listen you then. If you do well in the hunt, it might make Andruil and Elgar’nan more receptive to your suggestions, since both value courage. As for Falon’Din and Ghilan’nain… I fear they might be too focused on their own pursuits to pay attention to yours.” Mythal advised.  
They had reached the top level of crystal tower, an open space filled with luxuriously dressed people. Spirits floated among guests, and their presence made Solas curious. It was interesting change.  
“I don’t remember seeing so many before. Not after you asked me to come from the Fade and take a body.”  
“It is one of the recent changes, and it seems to be focused in _certain_ places in Elvhenan.” Mythal said. Her expression was thoughtful. “I don’t yet know what calls the spirits here. Watch them, Solas, and ask questions. I would rest easier if I was certain this has nothing to do with the loss of my dragons.”  
“Don’t worry, my lady. I will not disappoint you.” Solas promised confidently.  
  
\--

“I’m not certain if this is a good idea.” Roshan said as she watched the outline of Ghilan’nain’s tower coming into view. It was strangest tower she had seen – the design was reverse, and made little sense. But few things did, she thought. A floating aravel pulled by flying foxes was one of them. Unfallen usually depended on their own two feet.  
So far, she had not seen much of the city, but this was only her first day. In the morning they had travelled from mountain cabin to Sundermount, used eluvian there to enter Dirthamen’s Arlathan estate, and rest of the day had been spent in a flurry of preparations.  
“It’s a splendid idea.” Dirthamen replied confidently. “Stop worrying. It will be fun, and nobody will recognize you.”  
“The dress is lovely.” Roshan admitted. The deep red silk was the softest fabric she had ever worn, and she was foolishly pleased with overly dramatic design. Even though train, ruffles and full underskirt severely compromised her mobility and ability to fight. It was utterly useless for someone like her, and she loved it. The only saving grace she could think of was the fact that dark red was good for hiding bloodstains.  
Sensing her thoughts, Dirthamen looked at her with a faint smile.  
“You are again trying to argue why you shouldn’t have what you want, aren’t you?” he asked.  
“I saw what you paid for this. It was enough to buy an excellent horse.” Roshan pointed out. “Or outfit three people reasonably.”  
“So? You should have seen the look on your face when the tailor showed you the illusion. It would have been heartless to make you pick something else.”  
“I picked something else.”  
“That dull orange thing?” Dirthamen sniffed. “Everyone knew you didn’t want it. You picked it because it was boring and cheap.”  
He took her hand in his, deciding it was time to lay a groundwork.  
“I’ve spent years watching you in ugly, baggy clothes my brother’s servants wear, or that ghastly armour of Unfallen. Only time you have worn anything pretty was that unwanted courtship celebration, and even then the colour Mythal made you wear was all wrong. It pleases me to spoil you, even though one dress is hardly spoiling. I have given far more expensive gifts to people I like far less. You should not rob me of chance to do something I’ve wanted to do ever since you first called me by my name.”  
Roshan sighed, giving up.  
“I do like beautiful things.” she offered as she leaned against his side. “Even though it is preposterous.”  
“Good.” he said, slipping his free hand in his pocket. “Because we need to mask you somehow from other guests, and I know an excellent jeweller who specializes in casting illusion enchantments in precious metals.”  
“You did not.” Roshan groaned.  
“I did.” Dirthamen informed her happily and fixed the clasp on her hair. “Rubies for red currant berries, set on golden branch. I remember the bushes all too well from Falon’Din’s kitchen garden. And the masking spell. The default is a mask my favoured wear, but it takes any illusion you might want to cast and keep that until the clasp comes undone.”  
 He took a moment to admire his work as the aravel began to land near the gates of Ghilan’nain’s tower. She was beautiful, just like he had always thought. It pleased him to see her like this. He had liked the green dress best, and then light blue. They would be delivered tomorrow, but it was not something he was going to tell her. Yet. She needed practice being spoiled.  
“Thank you, vhenan.” Roshan said. She was watching the crowd with thoughtful eyes. So far, it did not look much like parties Falon’Din had thrown. To be honest, she had always steered away whenever possible because Falon’Din’s parties tended to be generally unlucky for unpopular slaves. The power to cast glorious illusions and effects had to come from somewhere, after all.  
 “It will be fun.” Dirthamen promised. “It is time we went somewhere civilized.”  
Roshan snorted.  
“You call a pretentious crystal tower civilized?”  
“Excellent, my love.” he said, his eyes dancing. “Keep the scorn up, and everyone will believe you were born a noblewoman.”

\--

Roshan was not unfamiliar with people staring at her. But the stares Unfallen got were different. People glanced quickly, and looked back only when they thought she didn’t notice. The finely dressed guests in Ghilan’nain’s party did not look away as she walked across the crystal bridge with Dirthamen. They kept staring, with expressions ranging from curious to downright rude. The most obvious ones whispered behind their hands, or turned their whole bodies to crane their necks to see just a bit longer. Roshan found it irritating.

As they walked, she made a quiet assessment of those she deemed most dangerous threats. The brown-skinned man with June’s vallaslin was wearing the armour of arcane warrior. Skilled, obviously, but not a threat since June’s personal bodyguard would not attempt anything without the leave from his lord. But there were three Roshan decided to keep an eye on. A white-haired, copper-skinned woman with Elgar’nan’s vallaslin was similarly bound to her lord’s will, but there was something off in the way she spoke to those near her. She reminded Roshan of new slaves, who were nervous and would take any opportunity to prove themselves in their search for prestige. In Falon’Din’s service, it was extremely bad idea to attempt to draw their lord’s attention, but since that particular mistake was beneficial for older retainers’ survival, nobody warned new people. Roshan filed the woman mentally under possible unexpected threats. But there were others who concerned her more.  
“Dirthamen.”, she said quietly. “The dark-haired, pale woman, dressed in yellow and standing under the second three from the left. She is not like other servants.”  
“How can you tell?” he asked.  
“A servant would not look directly at someone belonging to higher social class, but avoid eye contact. She is a bit too confident. Hides something.”  
Dirthamen pursed his lips.  
“It’s best she is recalled, then. It’s only a matter of time before someone else spots her.”  
“I caught one of yours?” Roshan asked amusedly.  
“Her supervisor was clearly overestimating her abilities.” Dirthamen said dryly. “I’ll have words with them. Anyone else, gaidhalas?”  
“The nobleman with large emerald on his hair. His retainers are hiding weapons under their clothes. I would bet on those new retractable staves, because if it was a sword, they would be more careful with their movements.” Roshan replied. “We never bothered to get those. They have a structural weakness on the joint, and the whole idea was to let people see we were armed.”  
They had reached a large eluvian placed between two willows.  
“There is a vote to be cast about Sylaise’s agenda I spoke about, and I must be there.” Dirthamen said.  
Roshan nodded, understanding what he meant. Some of the Evanuris took people with them to council meetings, but in her current situation, she was not willing to risk being recognized by Mythal or Falon’Din. Too much depended on the outcome of vote.  
“Come to meet me here in two turns of glass. Then the rest of the night is ours. No work, only play.” Dirthamen promised, pulling her close. He kissed her, deep and slow, and she felt fluttering in her stomach.  
  
  
As he stepped through eluvian, Roshan looked closely at the willows and frowned.  They looked like ordinary willows, but there was something seriously wrong with catkins. They all were a bit too similar, beautiful and soft, just begging to be stroked. When Roshan touched one tentatively, it moved under her fingers, suddenly opening a tiny mouth with sharp teeth. She pulled her hand back quickly before the catkin had a chance to bite her. Judged by the small stains of red on other catkins, not everyone had been quick enough.

Smooching Evanuris in public was two-edged sword, Roshan decided few moments later. After Andruil and her entourage had vanished through the mirror, people had turned their attention back to her, and Roshan’s feelings were conflicted on that. On positive side, there was a crowd of people trying to kiss her ass. On negative side, there was a crowd of people trying to kiss her ass. If this got any worse, she would need a stick to keep them away.  
“Your eyes are like bottomless pits....of beauty.” a small, enchanted illusion shaped like nightingale sang as it flew past her head.  
“Of all the beautiful curves on your body, your smile is my favourite.” a disembodied voice sighed in her ear.  
Deciding that enough was enough, Roshan strode to Ghilan’nain’s nasty willow and broke off a branch. Looking around, she spied an empty spot under an arch of red flowers built over a pool of water. Excellent. It was ridiculously romantic location just begging for more attention from annoying people.  
Careful to keep her fingers away from catkins, she arranged her train and glided across the crystal floor slowly enough to make sure everyone saw where she was going. Then Roshan sat on marble seat under the arch of flowers and waited for her prey.

“I wouldn’t wish to presume anything.” the woman smiled at her falsely. Roshan wasn’t entirely sure what her name was, but by the looks of her, she seemed to be well-off.  She had copper hair and pale eyes, no markings. She was fourth person walking to her trap. First two had tried to flirt with her, third one asked tips on luring a rich lover – ha, like Roshan knew any – but this one seemed to want something else.  
“Truly?” Roshan asked, sipping her glass of wine.  
“Of course not. But even though I would not bother Keeper of Secrets with anything so trivial, there is a delicate issue which is very important for me. A well-chosen word in right ears would be most appreciated.”  
This was interesting, Roshan thought. Another illusion of little bird flew past her shoulder, singing:  
“I didn't see any stars in the sky tonight, the most heavenly body was standing right next to me.”  
Roshan swatted it absently with her willow branch, and the illusion was dispelled.  
“I can make no promises.” Roshan said noncommittally. “Especially on so little information.”  
“It is a son of my dear friend.” the woman said. “He is in service of Ghilan’nain. His mother has not seen him for some time, and all her queries have gone unanswered. I – We would appreciate a word of him.”  
“Why to approach me?” Roshan asked, frowning. “Certainly this kind of matter would be best solved by more conventional approach. His personal attention is not required for matter such as this.”  
“Ah, that is true, but a favoured lady may gain access to places I cannot.” the woman said with a small smile. “All you’d need to do was to go downstairs, on third floor, and—“  
Roshan smiled back at her, leaning towards the woman and brushing her branch of willows against the noble’s neck. She saw her flinch as the catkin nipped her neck, leaving a tiny red mark. A single drop of blood was all she needed. Roshan’s magic sneaked out, the faint red tinge vanishing unseen into stronger red of her dress.  
“Now tell me, my lady.” Roshan whispered “What would wait for me in the third floor?”  
The woman fought, that was true, but she had her blood now. It was almost ridiculously easy. It had been a while since Roshan had used blood magic to interrogation purposes, and she didn’t remember being able to do this with such an ease. It was invigorating.  
“A lesson in humility.” the woman said, the words ripped from her lips against her will. “You have no right, no position. My lady Sylaise would certainly reward me—“  
Roshan’s eyes narrowed.  
“That is quite enough.” she said, releasing the woman from spell. “I have no wish for instruction from your hallowed lady. And if you think I’m a naïve girl whom you can catch so easily and improve your position in Hearthkeeper’s court, you underestimate both me and him.”  
She stood up, taking her branch with her.  
“If I were you, I would not mention our little discussion to anyone.” Roshan added sweetly. “These exquisite little creations of Ghilan’nain seem to keep blood fresh for a very long time.”  
With entirely false smile, she left. By Void, the nobles were disgusting. The plotting and backstabbing was worse than Falon’Din’s temple, with the notable exception that she no longer held the social advantage of being left alone. In some regards, it was easier to be Falon’Din’s elite killer than Dirthamen’s… something. Roshan did not know what she was, and she was in no hurry to find out. After centuries of having her role defined by others, she rather liked the illusion of being able to do whatever she wanted.

Roshan weighed the willow branch in her hand. There was some time still before the Evanuris finished their discussion, but she did not wish to stay in here any longer. The musicians were starting to play, and Roshan preferred to avoid being asked to dance. She didn’t know how. The skill was not something she had been taught as Keeper’s apprentice or during Unfallen training.  
“Refreshments, mistress?” a servant with Ghilan’nain’s markings asked. She was unnaturally beautiful. Almost sculpted, Roshan thought. The sight made her feel a bit unwell. Maybe there were worse things and worse masters than Falon’Din. He, at least, cared mainly about functionality.  
“Thank you.” Roshan accepted the glass from a tray. “I like the willows. Is there more of your honoured lady’s creations I could see?”  
“Yes.” the servant answered eagerly. “On bottom floor of the tower is a section built especially for viewing my lady’s wondrous beasts. There are even some halla. They are brand new species.”  
“What are these halla like?” Roshan asked curiously.  
“They are like harts, except far more graceful, and extremely intelligent. They are most beautiful animals I’ve never seen, mistress.”

 

The section built for viewing Ghilan’nain’s creations was empty when Roshan arrived there. The outer walls were made from see-through glass, and there was curious platform next to a wall. It was large enough for two people to stand on it, and Roshan was just deciphering the runes written on it when she heard a polite cough behind her.  
“Good evening. I saw you coming here and I wondered if I could have a word in private.”  
Roshan startled.    
“Solas.”, she said, slowly turning around. He had changed much. The nerdy youth had grown up. He looked quite handsome, these days. Older. Far more confident. Last time Roshan had seen him, his vallaslin had been still red and swollen. The green lines of Mythal suited him well.  
“You know my name?” he asked, taking a step forwards. “I’m afraid I don’t recall seeing you before today with Keeper of Secrets. I have business with him. A book.”  
“Yes.” Roshan said, gathering her wits. “He has spoken about you.”  
“I’m pleased to hear it.”, Solas grinned. He took her hand and pressed a kiss on her skin.  
“Lovely to meet you, lady—“  
Roshan pulled her hand away. She shook her head, pressing a finger on the lips of her illusive mask.  
“Of course. I should have known better than ask name from Dirthamen’s paramour.” Solas said with a sigh. “I think I’ll call you lady Ivar, then.”  
Lady ‘in my heart’.  It was better compliment than the people upstairs had been able to invent, but Roshan didn’t get when or why Solas had turned into shameless flirt. It made her very uneasy.  
“You wanted to talk about something?” she said, wanting to change subject.  
“I was hoping to talk with Dirthamen about my presentation, but it can wait. You were evidently interested in Ghilan’nain’s creations, lady Ivar?” Solas asked and stepped on the platform. “This is interesting deviation of ordinary barrier spell. Activating the runes creates a force field bubble which extends by steps of people who stood on the platform during activation. It is like a pipe of glass, but large enough for people to walk in. It gives a chance to view creatures from close, but keeps the viewers safe. Most of Ghilan’nain’s creations are not entirely benevolent.”  
“In that, she hardly differs from others with power.” Roshan said.  
“Interesting opinion.” Solas arched his eyebrows.  
“But true.” Roshan replied, not willing to give up. Even though she knew it was risky, she could not summon any fear towards the boy who had chatted eagerly about difficulty of fitting body parts together during sex.  
Solas was going to say something, but he was interrupted by voice coming from nowhere. It was the enchantment used for official declarations. The words rang out, stern and imperial.  
“The Evanuris, the leaders of the People, have agreed that any and all bonds between two souls are reserved only for unmarked and worthy. The sanctity of joining will be taken only by free People who are able to understand the severity of their actions and carry responsibilities which come with such union, for it is forever. The edict is effective immediately, concerning any bonds sworn in past, present or future. We praise Blessed Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper, who safeguards the unity of our families and fires which burn in the hearts of the People.”  
Roshan’s whole body was flooding with relief. She had not understood how deeply the issue had weighed on her before this moment. She did not have to bond Solas. She could never be forced to bond anyone. Her heart was hers alone, not given to pretence of love and unity when there was none, and it would stay that way until the end of time.  
“How dare they?” Solas’ sudden fit of temper was entirely unexpected. “How dare they take away the last sacred right slaves had?”  
Roshan looked at him with wide eyes. He looked very upset, and his face was hard.  
“What do you mean?” she asked carefully. “This is a good change.”  
“It is nothing but sheer robbery! So far, those who own slaves have not attempted to own their hearts, too. Bond was last chance for a slave to show his feelings, to have them recognized and respected in eyes of others. It gave validity to fact that markings on my face do not make me fundamentally different from persons without. I can love. I could love. And there was nothing anyone could do about it, until now.” Solas’ hands were fisted on his sides.  
“Bond between slaves was nothing but a chain used to force people to play games like they were puppets! It’s better to be without than having to pretend. At least it gives people dignity, if not choices.” Roshan’s own temper flared. He was still as stupid as he had been. He had wanted it. He had been eager like a puppy, who didn’t even understand he was being caged, and apparently years had not changed him in that regard.  
“Freedom to make choices is not something you can give up just like that!” Solas was raising his voice at her now. “Where is dignity in being seen less than a person? Now it is too easy to regard slaves like animal who can’t feel like others feel?”  
“Bonding has nothing to do with love!” Roshan shouted back at him.  
“You are wrong.” Solas snapped. “It has everything to do with love. It is recognition, expression, the final declaration of loyalty. It was only thing you could have had a as a proof that you are something more than just another fuck for rich and influential. How can you even respect yourself, talking like that? “  
“You know nothing of love, Solas.” Roshan was truly angry now. “You have never known it. You just climb on your soapbox, and lecture everyone what you have seen in the Fade like it was only truth there is. Let me tell you: life is different than Fade. Feelings are not real until you actually feel them, and live through them, instead of studying someone else’s memories through a twisted lens. True love does not require ceremonial gestures.”  
“Oh, that’s how you attempt to calm yourself when you lay awake at night and wonder how long your Evanuris lover will bother to keep you clothed and fed. Dirthamen has reputation – I’m sure you know it.”, Solas said. “This makes it easier for him to throw you out the moment his interest runs out. No reason for bad conscience, because you aren’t even a person to him. I’m willing to bet there are his markings on your face, and you tell yourself these lies about ceremonial gestures because you are trying to protect your own heart from inevitable hurt. With this law, the hurt is inevitable, and there is nothing you can do to change it.”  
Roshan stared at him.  
“No wonder why your fiancée thought it was a better fate to run off than stay and bond you.” she hissed viciously and strode past Solas, leaving to upper floors. Idiot. Thank the stars for Falon’Din and a dragon. Melting her face off had been far kinder fate to Lavellan than being bonded someone like Solas.


	8. Andruil's hunt, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Evanuris prepare for Andruil's hunt. Solas discusses his book with Dirthamen. Unfallen ask for Roshan's help, and she can't find words to explain Dirthamen why she feels she has to do something to assist. Mythal decides to arrange target practice for ladies of court and discusses dragons with Roshan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is monstrously long so I had to cut it in two. It's basically only the first half of chapter, and I couldn't find a good spot to chop it, so I picked a half-way mark. Not much action, lots of background information mostly on Unfallen, and a partial explanation why Unfallen are so twisted. (Also, a reason why Roshan struggles so much with relationships and wants desperately to keep things casual)
> 
> I'm trying to finish the second part tomorrow so you'll get the first part of story arch before I attempt to finish my other stories. This one is planning to get even longer than I thought, and I try not to leave wips forever, especially with fandom drying up.

Dirthamen woke up to noises coming from the outside. The alcohol he had consumed was still making him feel pleasantly high, and he wasn’t sure how long he had slept. Moonlight was still coming through Ghilan’nain’s wall of glass, so it could not be morning yet. He felt for Roshan on his right, but the bed was empty and cold.

Quietly, Dirthamen sat up and looked around him. There were no lights coming from bathroom or anywhere in the room, but he saw Roshan sitting on armchair in front of high glass wall. The sounds of happy drunk elves were coming from floor below, apparently.  
She looked distant and a bit sad as she sat there, holding the dark red dress on her lap. Her fingers were stroking the soft fabric and running over the ruffles on hem with great attention. It was act of admiration, but laced with sadness Dirthamen did not want to see on her face.  
“Gaidhalas.”, he called, pushing his legs on the floor. The pelt which served as a carpet was soft yet odd under his bare feet. Probably from some unsuccessful experiment of Ghilan’nain.  
She looked up, and smiled at him, but the smile was small.  
“Vhenan.”  
“Why you are sad?” Dirthamen asked as he made his way across the floor and sat on the floor by her feet, crossing his legs.  
“I’m not sad. Just thinking.” Roshan said.  
“Sad thoughts.” Dirthamen noted, and she didn’t deny.  
“I had an argument with Solas. He was at the party, and we disagreed about the new law on bonding. It got a bit personal.” she said, keeping her gaze on the dark red fabric.  
Dirthamen made a mental note to give orders about damage control to his people. He knew Roshan. She was a bad liar, and it was likely that she had slipped something she should not have said.  
“And now you are sitting here instead of sleeping.” he concluded.  
“I’m thinking about choices.” Roshan said. “It occurred to me that Solas might have been right, partially. Even though his view is limited like always.”  
“What do you mean?” Dirthamen asked, leaning against her bare legs. They were warm.  
“Maybe I shouldn’t be here with you.” Roshan said hesitantly. “It makes things complicated. For you. You had to spend whole winter in mountains, away from everyone, because I was hiding. You haven’t seen Falon’Din, and I know I have caused strain between you two. I never wanted that. Or between you and your mother, or everyone, basically.”  
She brushed hair off her face and continued:  
“I know you are a good man and sometimes I worry that I’m becoming a burden for you. That if you wanted something else, or someone else, you might not want to say it because it would put me in difficult situation. But it isn’t true, vhenan. I could survive on my own. I’m not without skills, and I’m sure I could invent something. I could sign up in army – they are always recruiting – or find a job somewhere. You could come to see me sometimes, like you did at beginning. Things would be simpler between us.”  
Dirthamen decided that next assignment Solas would get was going to include sewers. Blocked up sewers.  
If none of Mythal’s cities currently had a drain problem, he would arrange major one, gladly.  
“Vhenan.”, Dirthamen said with more patience than he felt. He didn’t feel patient at all, but nervous in a way which twisted his insides in a way he had not experienced since he had walked away from Mythal’s palace with her burned body. He did not like to feel like this again.  
“Vhenan.”, he said again, because the word had not come out sounding as calm as he wanted, “it was never simple between us, not even in the beginning. It was far worse. It was lovely because past memories are always painted with gold, but when I think about how things were, I never want to go back to that.”  
Her hands playing with the fabric stopped, and Dirthamen turned sideways, taking her hand between his.  
“Every time I left, I didn’t know if you would still be there next time. At first, it was just how things were. Then it started bothering me. I thought it was simply the matter of wanting you, and it would get better after I bedded you. It didn’t work that way.” he said, brushing his fingers over her knuckles. Dirthamen remembered how her hands had looked like. He never wanted to see it again.  
Her fingers curled around his hand, and Dirthamen continued, letting the words flow in darkness:  
“It didn’t get better. It got worse, and I didn’t have name for it before things happened which were never supposed to happen. I found you laying in your own blood, and walked over what remained of what could have been your child, and then I had a word for it.”  
“Love.” she whispered quietly.  
“Yes.”, Dirthamen agreed, resting his head against her legs. He watched the force bubble making its way through Ghilan’nain’s dark garden in the distance.  
“I originally thought”, he searched for words “that you would be safer if I kept my distance. I understood too late that if I wasn’t there, it didn’t mean that things would not happen. I won’t make the same mistake again, vhenan. I wasted too much time trying to decide whether I truly loved you or not. Then when you almost died, I realized it didn’t matter. I feel what I feel. There is no need to justify it. To me or anyone else.”  
She slipped down on the floor with him, hugging him from behind.  
“I don’t want to leave. But I’m frightened. I don’t know what I want to do. Or what I’m supposed to do.”, Roshan said. She pressed her chin against his shoulder and just let herself feel his skin against her for a moment. His chest moved in slow, tired breaths, and she felt his heartbeat under her hand. She never wanted to leave. Waking world was complicated and always changing. If she could, she would have saved this moment and him like a veilfire memory, forever frozen in time.  
“There is no hurry.” Dirthamen said. “We have all the time in the world.”

\--

Solas sat on a stool, his back ramrod straight as Keeper of Secrets leafed through his book. The morning sun was shining through the glass wall, but it was still early. The Evanuris sitting behind his desk wore a bone white dressing gown embroidered with blue and green florals. Dirthamen drank a foul-smelling green concoction as he read the pages Solas had so carefully filled with neat handwriting.

 _She_ was present as well, Solas noticed. The large bed grown from a living tree had white draperies sheltering sleepers from view, but he saw her red hair spreading on the pillows. Bitter righteousness filled his mind. He had been right in their argument yesterday. She had no right to deliver such a low blow and then just run away. This arrangement was prime example on why bonds between slaves were necessary. Without recognition, love could only lead to ruin. It became an item to barter, something which could be sold and given away for reasons which had little to do with ideals and everything with survival.

“This is comprehensive work.” Dirthamen finally said. “But there is one vital thing missing.”  
Solas was taken aback.  
“I wonder what you are referring to, honoured one.” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral but failing. “I assure you, I have included everything you asked for. Disadvantages, benefits, injustices, my suggestions for changing the laws. I even studied the effects of slavery and social class changes to fifth generation.”  
“Yes, but where are the people?” Dirthamen asked, closing the book and tapping his fingers on the cover. “I recall telling you to conduct a field study on Unfallen. This book is excellent scholarly work, but where are the voices of the People? Those whose opinions might differ from yours? All I hear, Solas, is your voice.”  
The Keeper of Secrets pushed the book back to him and sent a spark of magic to pull from a rope which alerted house servants. A servant appeared, and Dirthamen put him a request of tea and breakfast tray.  
“I have included several parts dealing with different groups of slaves. Even a chapter concerning those serving the Evanuris, since it is socially different construct.” Solas defended his work. He held the book in his hands.  
“My trade is collecting information.” Dirthamen said coolly. “There are rules on doing that. One of the most important rules is that you must go to original source, preferably straight to his memories, because further the story travels from that point, more it changes.”  
The Evanuris shuffled a small spoon in teacup and continued:  
“Your book is objective, and there lies the reason for its failure. Objectivity does not govern the hearts of men. People are subjective thinkers, who are more drawn to individual stories and voices than truths dealing on larger canvas. There is no way Evanuris will agree to limit slavery to a single generation instead of enslaving children born to a female slave if all arguments are numbers, charts and other cold facts which undoubtedly are appealing to spirit of Wisdom like you were. You must humanize the slaves before you can make my brethren care for their fates. Your tale needs their own voices to remind that vallaslin does not make man’s heart different from ours.”  
Dirthamen placed the spoon on small plate and took a sip from his cup.  
“As it is”, the Evanuris continued calmly “I will not support your motion. Not as long as it is represented by this book alone.”  
“What?” Solas’ shock was genuine. If there had been one vote he had counted on, it had been Dirthamen’s. The Evanuris had ordered this work done. The book was Solas’ life’s work, and excellent one at that. The suggestions Dirthamen made were almost commercial, demeaning. They would lead the attention away from real problems. What was worth one sob story of slave mother when it could lead only to her freedom while thousands were forgotten?

His raised voice had been a bit too loud, because the sleeping woman in bed was stirring. Then Solas understood.  
“This is spite.” he said, his temper getting better of him. “You are doing this simply because she came to complain about me. There is nothing wrong with my work.”  
There was odd, almost pleased glimmer in Dirthamen’s eyes.  
“And here we are again, Solas. If your objective book is the only truth Elvhenan needs to change, how could a single woman with no property or prestige make me change my mind? I am an Evanuris, a powerful mage and king of my own country. ”  
“She insulted me.”, Solas said, holding his book so hard that his knuckles were turning white. “It was unforgivable.”  
“What did she say?” Dirthamen asked with interest.  
“She mentioned my former fiancée. Said that running off was better fate than staying with me.”, Solas hissed.  
Dirthamen’s lips curved in a faint smile.  
“You must have provoked her somehow.” the Evanuris decided.  
“I simply told her how this will end.” Solas snapped, waving his hand to encompass the whole room. “It will end in a rejection, and hurt, eventually. Without courage to change the face of the world, individual stories do not matter. A great change is what Elvhenan needs.”  
The amusement had vanished from Dirthamen’s face.  
“What do you mean?” he asked coldly.  
“Objectively, it does not mean how indulgent you are now. When you get bored or distracted, she will still be a slave. Nice treatment doesn’t change the facts. There is no other role in this play than that of a concubine, or mistress, and when those with greater power interact with those who have less, the lesser party is always the one with less choices. She knows it, even though she refuses to admit the truth. Slaves’ right to bond was important, because happiness and true love can only exist between equals.” Solas announced. “Rituals matter. They are symbols, and without symbols, there can be no commitment or change.”  
Dirthamen looked at him with unfathomable expression.  
“Add other voices to your book.” he said firmly and the servant hurried to open door for Solas.  
Taking his treasure, Solas left, steaming with anger on every step he took. Lady Ivar, or whatever was her name, had ruined his life’s work and the future of Elvhenan.  
  
\--

“He said my book was a failure.” Solas said bitterly, staring into his tankard in servant’s common room of Ghilan’nain’s estate. It was makeshift tavern, and he was going to get drunk as fast as he could.  
“Hmhn.”, Shathor made a non-committal sound behind his mask.  
“He said that I should have studied Unfallen. Interviewed you. As if your lot voluntarily spoke about slavery. Or anything, really.” Solas declared.  
“We are talking now, aren’t we?” Shathor noted.  
“Yes, but I have no idea why you are here.”  
“Stupid question. Our lord told us to come.” Shathor replied, filling his pipe. “For the hunt.”  
“I’m a bachelor now, have you heard?” Solas asked. “They annulled the bonds between slaves. Mythal voted against it, but she was the minority.”  
“So, what does the freedom taste like?” Shathor asked.  
“Like shit.” Solas replied sullenly.  
The older man let out a chuckle as he lit his pipe and started to smoke.  
“If you wanted happily-ever-after, you chose the wrong girl, boy.” Shathor said. “Lavellan had a history. A complicated one.”  
Solas waited, even though impatience tore at him. Shathor was slow to talk, and if Solas interrupted now, the Unfallen might change his mind about speaking. Falon’Din’s people were so close-mouthed.  
“Lavellan was pregnant, once. Kept it secret from everyone. My lord found out when he had promised her to some fucked-up noble in Sylaise’s lands. He got rid of it, and almost got rid of Lavellan, too, because she kept her mouth shut and refused to tell anyone who the father was.”  
Solas felt queasy.  
“Imagine our surprise when our lord’s esteemed brother walked into room, gave our lord a tongue lashing about spilling their blood on the floor and made him pay five wagons worth of blue spider-silk and shipment of silver for death of Lavellan’s baby. Falon’Din hated it, everyone knew that, but he had to play nice because Dirthamen forced his hand. So Lavellan got promoted back to Unfallen, and she didn’t even die.” Shathor blew a smoke ring.  
“He was the father?” Solas asked, blinking his eyes.  
“Yep.” Shathor nodded. “It was rumoured that Dirthamen used to walk the path from nearest village to back door of the temple every now and then. The kitchen was Lavellan’s kingdom, and our lord didn’t have a clue of what they were doing behind his back. “  
“He gave us a bed for a courtship gift. A splendid one, carved with ravens.” Solas said numbly. “I thought it was because I was doing a research task for him.”  
Shathor cackled.  
“Or because they were still going at it.”  
“Yes.” Solas nodded. He understood the whole issue in different light, now. Lavellan’s reluctance to bond. To have sex. Her persistent attempts to avoid anything he did to court her. Her unexplained disappearances. And likely the reason why Andruil’s people hunting for escaped slaves had never found her.  
“Do you think that is where she went?” he asked from Shathor. “To Dirthamen’s lands.”  
“Can’t say for sure. But why not? Escaped slave with Falon’Din’s markings should be easier to find, especially because Unfallen are tied to our lord’s temple and our pools of blood.”  
“Dirthamen has brought a red-haired woman to Arlathan with him. A mistress.” Solas said.  
Shathor gave him a sideways glance and said:  
“Take your mind off the Fade for a moment and listen a word of advice. With the new legislation on slave bonds, whatever courtship you had, has been officially annulled. If Lavellan lives, wherever she is, let her be. The girl has earned her peace. I don’t know how she escaped, but one thing I do know. Our lord made sure to give her the most fucked-up tasks after the baby thing. If someone was to be blamed for something, it was always Lavellan. Finding her and bringing her back would be no kindness. She’s better off dead.”  
Shathor stood up, taking the empty tankards.  
“Another round?” he asked, and Solas nodded.

Shathor took a place next to woman with short, dark blonde hair who sat by the counter. He handed the tankards to Ghilan’nain’s servant who hurried to back room to fill them up.  
“She is here. The boy has ran into her.”, Shathor said in low voice as soon as the servant left. “We need Lavellan to take out Natha.”  
“You are certain?” the woman asked.  
“Yep. We don’t have much time before the hunt begins. It’s not right, Vunora. She deserves better.”  
“I know.” Vunora said. “I’m going to get Lavellan.”  
“Think she’s going to come?”  
“Would you, if the roles were reversed?” Vunora asked.  
“Stupid question.” Shathor admitted. “Sorry. This is not something I wanted to do.”  
“None of us wants, but it is what we can give her.”, Vunora said.

\--

Dirthamen stepped out from the bath and lifted his arms, letting the valet to dry him with fluffy towel.  
“Has my lady risen yet?” he asked as the valet pulled a nondescript shirt over his head. The choice was peculiar; Dirthamen did not own many clothes as modest as these.  
“My lord. The lady has a guest.” the valet replied.  “A woman marked for Falon’Din.”  
“Do a single braid.” Dirthamen said and sat by a vanity. He moved his hand across a mirror once and the surface rippled, showing him the image of Roshan sitting opposite a slightly older woman who had indigo markings of Falon’Din. One of Unfallen, then.

“It’s Natha.” the woman was saying. Her voice was sad. Maybe even pained, Dirthamen fancied.  
“Has she gone over?” Roshan asked worriedly.  
“It’s not what you think. It’s far worse.” the woman said. “We went to north, into nameless lands, and Natha found _something_ beneath the surface.”  
“Vunora...” Roshan frowned. She reached forwards, taking woman’s hand. “Something is wrong. Tell me.”  
“Even if I wanted, I could not.” the woman, Vunora, said. Her words were very slow and carefully chosen.  
“But what you need to know is that what we found, changed Natha. In very bad way. Our lord wants nothing to do with her. She got lost three months ago and we have been searching for her since. Natha is one of the beasts Ghilan’nain’s guests will hunt.”  
“A beast?”  
“Our lord has told us not to interfere. Natha is not to be connected to us in any way.” Vunora said. “But you have not received such an order. And you are known to be... difficult. Also, currently out of his reach.”  
“I didn’t take you for rules lawyer, Vunora.” Roshan said.  
“I am what I need to be. As are you. Since our lord refuses, and has denied us in turn, it falls to you to make it right for Natha, Lavellan.”  
Roshan nodded, and her face was hard.  
“Of course. You don’t need to ask, Vunora.”  
“I have not asked.” Vunora remarked. “I came simply to return your items to you. Our lord has informed me that you got hurt during an undercover mission and he sent you to Dirthamen’s realm to recover. You are not relieved of your duty, or transferred to service of another, so I brought you your things. In case you needed them. Also, a drawing Isenril made for you.”  
She handed a scroll to Roshan and pulled a small cube from her pocket. It was one of Fade-wrought travelling trunks, which folded for transportation by magic and could hold surprising amount of items. Vunora placed it on table without a word.  
“Thank for your visit, Vunora.” Roshan said simply.  
“Goodbye, Lavellan.” the woman said, nodded and left.

 

By the time Dirthamen entered the room, Roshan had already opened the trunk and was fastening the arm guards on their place. She worked with practice and precision of experienced warrior, wasting no time.  
“What do you think you are doing?” Dirthamen snapped.  
“You listened us?” Roshan asked, tying her hair up.  
“Of course I did.”  
“Then you should not need to ask.” she replied sharply.    
“I would hear an explanation.” Dirthamen did not give up.  
“Vunora asked me to kill Natha.” Roshan said. “It’s an unspoken rule among us.”  
“ _Us_.” Dirthamen echoed.  
“Too much power can make a man mad. We watch each other for signs. If Natha has gone too far to do it herself, and Falon’Din refuses to do it, I will do it. Unfallen will not leave Natha to be hunted down like a _beast_.” Roshan’s face twisted in disgust.  
“I thought you wanted to be free.” Dirthamen said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It will not last for long, if you jump when you are told.”  
“I don’t jump. This is different.” Roshan said fiercely.  
“How? An order from your former commander, and you are putting on the armour and going to risk your own life and freedom to kill a woman. Who is Andruil’s prey and the focus of her hunt?  Do you think Andruil will take it kindly? You were told that my brother forbid his own servants from interfering, and Falon’Din does not like Andruil.”  
She said nothing, and Dirthamen was getting angry.  
“If this Natha is far worse than your average Unfallen gone mad – and I have seen my share of those - , why would you be asked to do it alone? Without any relevant information? In a tower filled with Evanuris? What is she even doing here? Falon’Din’s elite fighters don’t just disappear for three months and suddenly appear in Ghilan’nain’s realm. This reeks of blatant set-up for me.”  
Roshan held the mask in her hands, but she had stopped in middle of motion.  
“Think of it for a minute!” Dirthamen waved his arm in angry, wide curve. “You storm in, all geared up like Falon’Din’s slave. This Natha, even if she is there, is ‘all wrong’, and ‘changed very bad way’, and without your markings, you lack the additional resources from blood pools. As far as fighting ability goes, you are worse off than any of other Unfallen. You lose, and just before you die, Andruil storms in. She gets to kill the beast and catch you, the person who has stayed on her list of targets for longer than anyone else. With the armour, and the mask, Natha identifying you – if she is there at all - , Andruil will deliver you to Falon’Din promptly. He will likely kill you on spot, to make an example, and nobody will question it. There is nothing I can do if you insist being fool and serving yourself on a platter! Wearing an armour a five-year-old child could recognize!”  
Roshan sat down on chair and put the mask down.  
“But if I don’t go, I’ll betray them.” she said hesitantly, taking the drawing. “We were if not friends, companions.”  
“Refusing to die is not a betrayal.” Dirthamen stated. “Does a death within two hours by someone else’s hand truly make so big difference?”  
“No, but I have to do something. I can’t just leave her like this.” Roshan shook her head.  
“This was a person?” Dirthamen asked with disgust as he peeked over her shoulder to see. “What are the blue things? They look like crystal shards coming out from her. Some kind of mutation?”  
“Don’t you understand? It could have been me.”, Roshan pleaded. “I could be there, now, twisted and torn and looking like that. I never liked Natha, but I owe her mercy. A clean death.”  
Dirthamen shook his head.  
“No, vhenan. There is nothing you can do.”, he said, and his voice was resolute.

It was clear that Dirthamen did not understand. But how could he? The companionship between Unfallen was something more than simple brotherhood born between soldiers. Roshan struggled to put it into words. She tried to, but when she couldn't even decide how to begin, she stayed silent and said nothing. The unity of Unfallen was a twisted web, shared guilt, and compassion between only people who could not blame her for unspeakable action because they all had committed the same crime.

 

_Roshan is nine years old when she is given to Falon’Din’s service. Far too young for June’s vallaslin, her Keeper treats she like a child until the fateful day they are informed their village has been given to Friend of the Dead. But Keeper thinks Falon’Din might not want people who were already marked, and his Second was the only child while Roshan has a younger sister. Roshan has been training just for a year, so she doesn’t know much, and taking another apprentice is not a great setback at this point._

_Very soon after takeover, the children from all four villages are gathered together in town square under the shrewd eyes of black-robed priests. It is first time Roshan has seen someone who wasn’t marked for June. In her village, young people take up the family trade, becoming farmers for livestock or crops. But their new lord was not having any of that. The priests say that everyone will be tested and then given duties according to their abilities, and that every family should have at least three or four babies. Many families who had wanted to have children but denied because June did not want overpopulation, are very happy. Roshan thinks it is a good thing and her parents should have another baby now that Roshan has to leave. Viviel would be lonely without a sister. She is three years old, and follows Roshan everywhere._

_The priests hold a test, or a competition. She is not quite certain which one it is, but Roshan is very excited about it, wanting to perform well and make her family proud. She tries her very best. The children run and climb and perform simple spells. There are riddles to solve, nothing too difficult, and tests for affinities towards different types of magic. Competition takes three days, and in the end, Roshan wins._

_A priest declares boons for the winners from each village. A boy from neighbouring village leaves to study with priests, to become a scryer, and two older youths are sent to serve in Falon’Din’s army. They are given vallaslin in red and green, and Roshan feels like failure when she is left standing alone and barefaced in front of everyone while the priest closes his box of inks and packs it away. But she says nothing, trying very hard not to cry, and does not move._  
_“Good.”, the priest says. “This is the last time you will see these people. You will return to our lord’s temple with me, and your training begins there.”_  
_“But her markings—“, Roshan’s former Keeper has a worried look on his face._  
_“Abilities of this one are best suited for our lord’s personal service. The markings of Unfallen are a special case.” the priest replies. It is first time Roshan hears the word, and she has no idea what to expect when she follows the black-robed priests through a mirror._

_For the first ten years after her arrival, she does not see a glimpse of their lord or the temple. As soon as she arrives to Falon’Din’s temple grounds, a frightening warrior in black spiky armor and silver mask comes to collect Roshan from the priests. In the beginning, Roshan is not entirely sure if her teacher is elf or spirit or living being at all, because the things she is asked to do seem to require inhuman fortitude. She runs and climbs and drags heavy things until her hands bleed and she wants to weep, but she keeps going. The empty barracks she lives in with her teacher are near the lakes filled with blood, and Roshan knows what happens to useless people. She is determined not to be useless, so she tries her hardest to learn what her teacher wants._

_Maybe there was some truth to priests’ testing, because the things Roshan is expected to learn are not very hard to grasp. She is good with running and jumping and all physical exercises they do. There is a bit of magic, too, but her teacher says that she is not yet old enough for proper Unfallen spells._  
_The barracks hold astounding number of different weapons, and her teacher says that one day she would be able to kill a Nameless warrior with any of them, or even without. The thought of killing sits uneasy with her at the beginning, but Roshan argues with herself that killing enemies of Elvhenan is not that different from killing hens or lambs like people do back home. It is a noble deed, actually. To defend one’s country and lord is far more worthy pursuit than killing hens who are too old to lay eggs. When she childishly explains her reasoning to her teacher, an armoured glove reaches to pet her hair with surprising gentleness._  
_“Oh, da’len. The innocence of youth cuts deeper than any sword.” her teacher says, and their disembodied voice sounded almost sad._

_She is almost thirteen when her monthly blood comes once, and then never again, because her teacher decides Roshan was old enough to learn blood magic. Blood was power, her teacher tells her, and one day she will fight Falon’Din’s enemies. Not a single drop could be left behind, because it is all a blood mage needs to control mind and body. Every Unfallen can do that and more, her teacher says proudly, and Roshan feels her heart stirring. That night she goes to sleep thinking that losing her dreams does not matter. Even though she likes Fade, becoming a blood mage, one of Unfallen, is to become something special. Her teacher always says that there is unbreakable bond between them and their lord, and Roshan believes it is true. Why else she would live alone with her teacher, in a barrack meant for fifty people instead of dwelling among others? Unfallen are special, best beloved by Falon’Din, and her teacher says that when Roshan is ready, Falon’Din will give her vallaslin personally. Nobody in her village had ever even seen one of Evanuris. Roshan hopes she could write home and tell her parents how well everything turned out, but she cannot. That life is over, her teacher says, and will never return._

_When her growing skill in blood magic steals her dreams and ability to enter Fade, Roshan does not weep. Even though the blackness of her nights is frightening at first, she understands it is simply one step closer to her true fate. Her teacher smiles behind their silver mask, and they take a day off. They go outside in Falon’Din’s garden, and her teacher tells Roshan stories about Unfallen. The comradeship, their bravery, their sacrifices. Roshan is very tired after sleeping differently, and her teacher lets her rest on grass next to them. She tells her teacher that even though she could not write to her parents, she was no longer so sad about it._  
_“You should not be, da’len.” her teacher says. They touch Roshan’s face fondly. “You are not without a family.  We take care of each other, in life and death.”_  
_“Did you ever have children, hahren? Or a partner?” Roshan asks, her eyelids heavy with sleep._  
_“No, da’len. Those paths are for other people, not for us.” her teacher replies gently. “But if you are lucky, one day you will have a child to raise and teach. You are the daughter I never had.”_  
_“But I have never seen you without mask or heard your true voice. How will I know you? When I’m grown up and we both serve our lord?” she asks._  
_“You won’t, da’len. But I will know you.” her teacher says, and the mouth of their silver mask brushed on Roshan’s temple. It is first kiss she has gotten since leaving her family behind, and the darkness of her sleep feels warm and safe._

 _When Roshan is nineteen, she is ready. She is well familiar with every weapon in the barracks and capable user of blood magic. She is well versed in tactics, lore and secret signs Unfallen use, and reasonably knowledgeable about geography, mathematics and courtly habits so she will not to embarrass their lord. Finally her teacher brings Roshan to Falon’Din’s armorer to take measurements for black heavy plate and silver mask. There is a war going in the north, her teacher told, and Roshan is needed._  
_“Whatever happens, no matter how terrible you feel, don’t cry. Don’t flinch. Our lord likes genuine admiration. He can be charming, if he wishes. Don’t give him reason to act otherwise.”_  
_“I’m not frightened.” Roshan says._  
_“You should be, stubborn and proud as you are. I just hope I haven’t made a mistake raising you the way I did.” her teacher sighs. “Some will say that I should have broken your spirit, to make you a tool and nothing else, but I believe our lord needs sharp weapons capable of independent thinking as well as blunt ones. Our path is not for the faint-hearted.”_  
_Roshan takes these words of her teacher – mother, her heart whispers even though it feels like betrayal towards mother she scarcely remembers – in her heart when summons come, and she walks past the lakes of blood into Falon’Din’s temple._

_Her lord sitting on his throne is everything Roshan has ever dreamed of.  Falon’Din is incredibly handsome and charming and he has presence of a leader which cannot be ignored.  His black eyes are intelligent and his hands, adorned with rings, are like birds taking a flight. Roshan blushes when he says she is pretty, and Falon’Din laughs, kissing her on the lips. Roshan knows the rules. He may take what is his, but all others will meet her blade first._

_He takes her hand and tells her that there is one last thing she has to do before he can give her a vallaslin. A test of loyalty, so he will know whom she loves best. Because he can’t trust an Unfallen who loves someone else more, Falon’Din explains, and Roshan listens, with wide childish eyes and nods, because of course it is so. A priest gives a sacrificial dagger to her, and Falon’Din closes her fingers around the hilt, smiling. He explains that fresh blood is required to make a vallaslin, and to fill her first pool of blood. A prisoner has been brought for that purpose, and she should kill them, because it will make her bond to Falon’Din much stronger. Roshan feels like her heart is bursting, because she wants to do well, to serve like she has been raised to do, and make her lord proud. So she grips the dagger, and walks to sacrificial altar which has been shrouded with magical darkness. She wonders about it, but most of Unfallen lore is a secret, and it makes sense that this part is secret, too._

_Roshan hears panicked, muffled sounds, but there is no words, and she steels herself as her touch finds a soft warm skin inside darkness. Unfallen are weapons, and weapons kill. This is her first, and she is very nervous, but Falon’Din is standing next to her and smiles encouragingly.  Wanting to impress, Roshan grips the blade, feels for the right spot with her free hand and makes a deep, straight cut from sternum to navel, finishing the job with neat cut across the throat. The blood stains her hands. It is hot and plentiful, and Falon’Din laughs with delight. He seems to be very pleased, and Roshan beams at him._

_“Now hold steady.” he says, and dips his fingertips in blood as he begins to draw the pattern on her face.  Every touch, every line of Falon’Din’s tree feels like a prick of a knife, but Roshan is Unfallen now, she can handle pain. Blood magic pushes inside her skin, sealing her in. She keeps her breathing steady, and does not cry out when Falon’Din goes for more complex pattern starting from inner corner of her eyes and reaching all way past her jaw and to her throat._

_Her face hurts and her markings are terribly sore, and when Falon’Din kisses her again, she almost winces for pain. She thinks that he saw it, even though she did her best to hide it, but it seems that Falon’Din does not mind. He grips her by shoulders and turns her to look at the altar._  
_“You are mine.” he says in very soft voice. “Look what you sacrificed to become mine.”_  
_The darkness around the sacrificial altar dissolves, and Roshan sees a newly dead corpse of a man. The man has blue eyes which are glazed, now, and his dark red hair is colour of blood. She remembers that face. The hair and eyes, which are like her own._  
_“Father.”, she whispers, and understands whose blood she holds sealed inside her skin._  
_Falon’Din laughs, and the sound is bright and beautiful like crystal breaking. Or maybe it is the sound her heart makes when it shatters.  And Roshan understands why; her hands are bloody now, and there is no way back home. She stands, motionless, when Falon’Din pulls her dress down from her shoulders and draws another symbol over her heart while Roshan listens the dripping of blood running in the grooves of altar. The priests are collecting the red liquid in buckets, and later she will dig a hole in Falon’Din’s garden to begin her very own pool of blood._

\--

Solas flinched as one of Andruil’s hunters tested a horn. The sound made his head throb in most unpleasant way, and Solas made a mental note never to drink with Shathor again. The Unfallen were standing with their lord, and none of them betrayed any signs of ill health.  
“I think it is best to exclude you from the hunting party. Vomiting on Ghilan’nain’s new halla would not be taken kindly by our hostess.” Mythal said.  
She looked at Solas’ greenish face and remarked:  
“I always wonder why men think that poisoning themselves makes things better. It only makes you unable to act.”  
“There is nothing to act on, my lady.” Solas said, unable to keep bitterness away from his voice.  
“Isn’t there?” Mythal queried and withdrew to give instructions to her hunting party.  
Solas sighed. He knew an order when he heard one. _She_ was standing alone under a cherry tree, little apart from Dirthamen’s followers, and Solas let his unwilling feet to lead him to her.

“You should have told me.”, he said sharply. Anger still bubbled inside him. It was easy to tell it was her, now that Solas knew, even with the beautifully crafted mask hiding the upper half of her face. Her hair was the same, but her eyes were different. They had been blue.  
“Told you what?” Lavellan asked, lifting her head up. She held a daisy in her hand, and she was methodically picking the petals apart, tearing the plant into shreds.  
“The reason why you did not want me.”  
“It was not your fault. You tried.” she said.  
“I was right.” Solas told her. “Instead of insulting me, you should have listened my advice, now more than ever. Pretty dresses and jewellery won’t last forever. I could have cared for you.”  
He kicked a small stone away, feeling resentful.  
“I know.” Lavellan replied. Her mouth twisted in small, ironic expression as she smoothed her dress. Today it was green. “I’m not very good at this.”  
“For what is worth… I’m sorry.” she said softly.  
Solas looked away for a moment. Mythal had finished giving orders to her party. June was already mounted on a halla, as well as Ghilan’nain.  
“Are you going to hunt?” he asked from Lavellan, wanting to change the subject.  
“Do you know who they are hunting for?” she asked suddenly, and her voice was coloured by unexpected anguish. “It’s Natha. Vunora came to tell me it’s Natha, and she does not deserve a death like this.”  
Solas opened his mouth to ask a question, but then he heard Mythal’s voice behind his back.  
“Solas. Be a good lad and bring me my bow.”  
Solas knew a dismissal when he heard one, so he nodded to Lavellan and went to do Mythal’s bidding.

“How is the life of privilege treating you, child?” Mythal asked.  
“I think I preferred the army.” Roshan said.  
“Naturally.” Mythal’s teeth flashed in a sharp little smile. “You are a dragon, and dragons belong to no man.”  
Golden eyes met another pair of golden eyes.  
“My older son would waste you in his search for glory. My younger son would keep you in comfort while he argues with himself, trying to get over his own perceptions of his supposed superiority.”  
“And how could you offer me anything better?” Roshan crossed her arms over her chest.  
“I wouldn’t hold you. I would push you over the edge of abyss, so we can see if you can fly.”  
Her words made Roshan uneasy, and she looked away. Dirthamen was talking with Elgar’nan, his back turned towards Roshan.  
 “There is something you want, child. I can tell.” Mythal said.  
“Justice.” the word tumbled from her mouth before Roshan had chance to think. “Justice, for Natha, and the rest of them. For all of us.”  
“Then you have come to right person.” Mythal said. She offered her hand. Her fingers were short and plump, decorated with curving lines of silver rings.  
“For what price?” Roshan asked, looking Mythal in the eye.  
“Your freedom cost you your face. Even I cannot tell what it might cost for the others. No less, I fear.” Mythal replied. “What I offer you, child, is very simple trade. I will teach you how to fly, and in return, you will assist me in my work. Either of us may choose to end our cooperation at any time, but while it lasts, our association will stay secret.”  
“Nothing else?”  
“Nothing else.” Mythal confirmed.    
Roshan considered. Then she closed her fingers around Mythal’s hand briefly before pulling away.  
“My days of rampaging in forest are behind me. While my children and their servants hunt, I think I’m going to amuse myself with a little target practice to educate ladies of court. They are atrociously bad at it.”  
“How unfortunate.” Roshan said.  
“Undoubtedly, you will fare no better.” Mythal said, taking Roshan’s arm and starting to walk towards the main group. “If I give you a bow, I hope you won’t accidentally hurt someone.”  
Roshan’s lips were twitching, but she quickly arranged a neutral look on her face.  
“I will try my utmost best to avoid any accidents.” she said solemnly.  
“Of course you will _try_ , but your chances of success are rather slim. My husband despairs the terrible taste our sons have in women. They all have such a bad aim because most of them come from pleasure gardens. Sucking and shooting just don’t go together. Be good at one, bad at other.” Mythal shook her head lightly.  
“I am.”, Roshan replied in deadpan voice.  
Mythal laughed.  
“We are going to have so much fun. I can tell already. Now, off you go.” the Evanuris decided.  
Roshan picked few flowers from the ground. Holding them loosely in her hand, she gave Mythal a small bow and left to join the rest of Dirthamen’s followers.  
  
\--

Dirthamen knew something was up. His followers were standing next to Falon’Din’s, and Roshan had chosen a spot right between the two groups. She was speaking with Felassan, and one of the Unfallen was standing near them, watching. While Roshan spoke, her hands were busy picking the petals off from daisies she held. Dirthamen’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. There was a method to it. Three from the left one, two from middle one, four and then two from right. Breaks separated and clean, slow enough to allow for counting. A code. She dropped the right one from her hand and then proceeded to pick all petals off from the two remaining flowers before discarding them, too. When Roshan finished ruining the first daisy, the Unfallen who had stood close drifted off to join his comrades.

Ghilan’nain’s people were already bringing the mounts, those new halla, for Evanuris but Dirthamen waved the servant to wait and made his way to Roshan. Stopping behind her, he placed hands on her shoulders.  
“Three-two-four-two?” he whispered in her ear, feeling her flinch. “Caught, gaidhalas.”  
Before she had time to answer, a shadow fell on them. It was Falon’Din, already mounted on a halla. The Unfallen were with him, mounted on lesser creatures.  
“Are you coming, brother?” he asked. “I want you to see the prey we are hunting today.”  
“A courtesy of yours?” Dirthamen queried.  
“Yes. It is something not seen before in Elvhenan. A fitting reminder of my power for those who do not yet understand there is a difference between kings and gods.” Falon’Din replied in crisp, cool manner.  
“A lesson, yes, but for who?” Dirthamen asked, removing his hands from Roshan’s shoulders and gesturing for Ghilan’nain’s servants to bring his mount.  
Falon’Din smiled, and for first time ever, Roshan saw something akin to affection in his black eyes as he looked at Dirthamen.  
“Everyone except you, brother. Come and hunt with me.”  
From the corner of his eye, Dirthamen saw one of Unfallen signing with their fingers. Seven-Nine-One.  
“Roshan.”, Dirthamen said, the word a warning.  
“By your leave, honoured one.” Roshan bowed in rather warrior-like manner. “I will join Mythal’s ladies until the hunt has been concluded.”  
“Yes.”, Dirthamen decided, mounting on his halla. “ _Stay_ there.”

 

 

 


	9. Andruil's hunt, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andruil's hunt changes everything.

A flash of blue phased through a tree, and a horrified gasp rose from the group of hunters chasing their prey.  
“This one is a marvel, Ghilan’nain!” Andruil yelled in breathless excitement as she pushed her halla to gallop faster. “How did you give it ability to phase through matter so quietly? I couldn’t feel the Beyond rippling at all!”  
“I’m quite content that this will challenge even you, dearest.” Ghilan’nain replied smugly.  
Dirthamen had seen a glimpse of twisted, mutated creature running ahead and he knew with certainty that it was not Ghilan’nain’s work. The blue crystals sticking out from monster’s skin emitted a presence of power which was strong enough to make his mouth water. There was no way Ghilan’nain, who was youngest, could have made anything like that.  
He looked at Falon’Din, whose expression was proud and satisfied. There was no sign of his usual restlessness, and even though Dirthamen was pleased to see him content, this development worried him. If Falon’Din had truly found a way to prove himself stronger than all others, it might be dangerous for mother.  Falon’Din had never been one to forgive slights easily, and he had already sent Roshan to kill Mythal’s dragon. Dirthamen had uneasy feeling that his brother would not stop at pets this time.

There was a crashing noise. When Dirthamen looked up, he saw one of Andruil’s hunters flying in the air and hitting a tree trunk. There was a gaping, smoking hole in her chest, located near heart.  
“Nalena was my favourite!” Andruil’s temper flared. “You bastard!”  
She moved forward, fast as lightning, and Dirthamen slowed down his halla. It was not a good plan to get between Andruil and her prey, and Dirthamen had never been one for hunting. He disliked scurrying in a forest with Evanuris. Forests were fine, but Dirthamen liked watching birds and talking with bears, not trampling all over the place with stupid people. June’s people on far left were frightening all living beings far away with incessant blaring of their horns. As soon as this was over, he would go back to clearing, collect Roshan and retire into his guestroom for far more enjoyable pursuits.

Suddenly the world exploded around him, and Dirthamen’s halla rose on its back legs, screaming madly. Instinctively, he cast down barriers, just in time to avoid a sudden wave of broken trees and rocks flying everywhere. The halla threw him down, and Dirthamen landed less than gracefully on the ground, cursing.  
“What in the Void was that?” Elgar’nan roared.  
“It’s the prey, my lord.” one of Elgar’nan’s servants, a short fellow who had been thrown into a tree by explosion informed. “Great Andruil shot it, and it went mad. I think she is wounded, my lord.”  
“Ghilan’nain!” Elgar’nan’s eyes flashed. “Explain it! There is no way Andruil can get hurt by some sparkly ugly thing.”  
Ghilan’nain was nervous. Her normally cool expression was far less collected than usually. Dirthamen thought there was a glimmer of upset and curiosity in woman’s eyes as she pushed herself up from a bush she had landed on.  
“This prey is a bit different.” Ghilan’nain said. “I was experimenting on—“  
“Just spit out how to kill it, you madwoman!” Elgar’nan snapped.  
Ghilan’nain’s face grew pale, and she looked positively murderous, when Falon’Din stepped in. Even in midst of commotion, his brother looked very calm, Dirthamen noticed suspiciously.  
“Ghilan’nain assisted me in running tests to bolster my troops. This was one of the earliest test subjects. I donated her to Ghilan’nain as a payment.” Falon’Din said.  
“So we’re dealing with what?” Elgar’nan demanded.  
“A former Unfallen who has been further enhanced by my divine power.” Falon’Din announced.  
There were looks of distrust and dismissal between Evanuris, but the sound of a messenger coming running between trees broke the tension.  
“Honoured Ghilan’nain.” the man marked for Andruil said, breathlessly kneeling in front of youngest Evanuris. “My lady requests your assistance. Her leg has been shattered, and she insists that the prey should be left for her.”  
“My lord!” Elgar’nan’s servant yelled from his spot high in a tree. “It’s lady Mythal!”  
“Speak plainly!” Elgar’nan looked like he was going to lose it any moment.  
“It’s the monster! It has gone back to clearing! I can see people running around, and the tent is burning and--”, the man’s eyes widened suddenly. “There is a dragon, my lord!”  
“Oh, fenedhis lasa!” Dirthamen felt cold all over. He turned his magic inwards. Instantly, his form changed, and a flock of ravens rose on the sky, flying madly towards the clearing.  
Elgar’nan was already on his way, flying across the sky on his winged war mount, and Falon’Din clapped his hands, turning to address the Unfallen.  
“Let’s get back, now. It would not do to miss the ending of the hunt.” he said and smiled.

\--

Mythal’s ladies, all five of them, were the worst shooters Roshan had ever seen. Mythal made them put up targets in a small meadow which was out of sight from Ghilan’nain’s tower, while she stayed beneath the red canopy, lounging on a divan and chatting with Sylaise. It was commonly known that Hearthkeeper had no interest in hunting.  
Solas was setting up a tray to bring refreshments to his lady, when he gestured Roshan to come closer.  
“Mythal wanted to have a word with you.” Solas informed her, and Roshan followed after him.

Roshan knew all Evanuris by face and reputation. Sylaise had been more frequent visitor in Falon’Din’s temple than others. She always participated when Falon’Din threw a party, while June almost never did. The Hearthkeeper paid no attention to Roshan when she approached Mythal’s divan, preferring to sip a frozen drink Solas offered her.  
“Did you bring any weapons with you?” Mythal asked.  
“I don’t carry any, honoured one.” Roshan replied. Dirthamen said that she was a bad liar, so it was best to stick to truth, and avoid telling that Vunora had agreed to drive Natha towards the clearing.  
“You may borrow my bow to enter the competition.”, Mythal said, nodding to Solas, who arched his eyebrows in surprise but obediently went to weapon stand placed next to Mythal’s divan. Evanuris’ fine golden armour stood there, as well as her weapons. Solas lifted up an ornate wooden box from the floor and carried it to Mythal, who sent a small spark of magic towards the lock.  
“I made this very long time ago. Like many old things, it almost has a mind of its own.” Mythal mused as she lifted up an ivory white longbow. “It’s ugly and stiff, but in right hands, I believe it can still do well.”  
The bow was made from bone, Roshan noticed as she tentatively touched it. It felt warm, pleasantly so.  
“This feels very nice.” she said softly.  
Mythal looked very pleased, and it looked like Evanuris was going explain further, when the bow suddenly went dead cold. In next heartbeat, something misshapen ripped through the tent wall behind Mythal’s back. A clawed hand appeared from the hole, glowing blue, and Roshan did not think. Hearing Sylaise’s sudden, draconic roar in her ears, she bit her the inside of her cheek and grabbed a longsword from Mythal’s weapon stand. There was no time for anything else, when a horrifying monster twisted by raised blue veins and crystals exploded the furniture inside tent with simple blink of odd, electric blue eyes. It was the moment when Roshan realized Vunora had been right to say that Natha had become something far worse than a mad blood mage, and it was likely that they all were going to die.

\--

There was blood on Solas’ fur, and an arrow flew past Roshan’s shoulder, sinking deep beneath Natha’s shining blue eye, but still she kept going. Roshan cried out in pain as Natha grabbed her wrist, twisting the narrow bones until there was a loud snap of broken bones. Sword fell from her grip, but Roshan did not relent, forcing blood to bind the broken bones together while she switched hands. Oh, she hated fighting against Unfallen.

The remains of tent were burning, and Solas the wolf was choking from smoke, but Roshan didn’t feel the warmth. She did not have time for that. She held Natha back, keeping her from Mythal and Sylaise, who sent another bout of fiery breath towards them. It invoked a primal fear in Roshan’s mind, and her courage deserted her. She turned away from bright yellow dragon, her whole body shaking, and then Natha caught her.

She dangled in Nathan’s grip, sharp claws digging in her flesh. If she had not seen Isenril’s drawing, she might not have recognized Natha at all. The brown-haired elven woman was taller, now, with long bony arms and sharp claws and a pattern of striking blue veins crossing her skin. There were lumps sticking from her skin, and they had felt hard, crystallized, when Roshan had tried to hit them earlier. Her face was twisted too, with sharp teeth and horrible scarring.  
“Oh, Natha. What did they do to you?” tears rose from Roshan’s eyes.  
Her mouth opened and closed, and there were screeching sounds, like she tried to speak but her voice didn’t work right. Natha’s eyes glowed even stronger blue, and she focused her gaze on a trace of blood running from Roshan’s mouth. With horrified fascination, Roshan saw Nathan’s magic seizing it, and then there was a voice in Roshan’s mind.  
_“HELP!”_ a scream filled Roshan’s skull, and she could hardly breathe.  
“Lavellan!” Solas yelled, and a sword she had dropped flew in the air, straight like an arrow. Roshan used magic to catch it, and with one smooth move, she drew her shoulder back and sank the blade into Natha’s chest.  
But it was not enough, Roshan realized with horror, because Natha only cried out and started to squeeze her by throat. Her feet dangled in the air, and her magic clawed desperately at Natha, trying to get air.  Sylaise the dragon breathed another bout of flames and Mythal’s bow sang, and something grabbed the hem of her stupidly pretty dress and pulled.

Her eyes were watering as she landed on the floor among the debris and broken decorations. A huge white wolf with too many eyes was looming over her, Solas the wolf, and he held the hem of her dress in his mouth. Natha was screaming loudly, but Sylaise the dragon screamed louder, and there was another wave of heat, before Mythal’s bow sang for the last time. A silence fell.  
“Poor child.” Roshan heard Mythal’s soft voice saying before sky above them darkened, and Elgar’nan’s furious shouting for blood overcame all other sounds.

 

Elgar’nan was shouting at everyone and Roshan could scarcely heard Mythal’s calm replies as she tried to force her sluggish magic to start repairing worst of her injuries. Solas had changed back into his elvhen form. There was a large gash on his side, another running from his shoulder to elbow, and he looked pale.  
“Are you all right?” Roshan asked quietly and Solas nodded, still looking shocked.  
She tried to push herself up to sitting position, but her wrist couldn’t take the weight, and she winced. Apparently she had done less than perfect job during the fight, so her wrist had to be broken again and healed properly. Fenedhis.  
A pair of hands slipped under her arms, pulling her up, and Roshan stifled a cry of pain. Next moment, Dirthamen’s cool and shadowy magic was spreading in her body, fixing the cuts from Natha’s claws and the bleeding wound on her head. The bones in her wrist moved oddly painlessly under her skin, and Roshan felt queasy. She did not notice when a hand was slipped behind her neck, and then Dirthamen kissed her bloody mouth.  
_< Vhenan. We have to leave now.>_, Dirthamen’s voice whispered in her mind, invoking the spell they had played with all winter. <They will kill you for taking dragon form.>  
It was hard to focus, but she deepened the kiss, feeling ridiculously grateful for not being dead. The pain had been numbed by his magic, and he held her, safe and sound.  
_< The dragon was Sylaise. I would not, I don’t even know how.>_, she thought back.  
The relief flooding from his mind was unmistakable.  
_< Your mouth tastes like dragon blood>_, he informed her. _< It burns on my tongue. Sweet burn, just like you, Roshan. I will take you home. Others can fix this mess, while I kiss your wounds better.>_  
“It was that one!” a loud voice announced from right, and Roshan lost her hold on the spell.  
Dirthamen pulled his mouth away, looking annoyed, and glared at someone behind Roshan.  
“What in the Void you are screaming at, Sylaise?”  
“It was her. She stole a property of Evanuris without permission!” Hearthkeeper announced, pointing a blaming finger at Roshan. There were several stern-looking people with Elgar’nan’s markings staring at them, and few of Sylaise’s own servants. Roshan had no idea of what Sylaise was talking about, unless she was referring Dirthamen as her property.  
“She stole Mythal’s sword! I saw her take it, and use it!” Hearthkeeper clarified loudly.  
“For fuck’s sake, Sylaise, drop it! Nobody with any sense expects people to defend their leaders with their bare hands if there are weapons within reach!” Dirthamen snapped.  
“Stealing from Evanuris is a crime according to law. Labour camp, most commonly, if it was the only crime committed.” Falon’Din appeared on the edge of smoking ruins of Mythal’s tent. “Sadly, I think I’ve finally found my missing slave.”  
Roshan’s mouth was suddenly dry. She felt very small, and defenceless, and couldn’t think a word to say. The itching between her shoulder blades appeared again, very insistent this time, and she could almost imagine something was moving under her skin. Dirthamen had to feel it too, because he had been holding his hand on her back when they kissed, and there was sudden spike of cold magic emanating from his palm. The itchy sensation vanished.  
“I fear you are mistaken, brother.” Dirthamen said steadily. “She is not your slave.”  
Behind Dirthamen, Roshan could see Solas’ terrified face, and too late she understood why. A sound of heavy steps stopped behind him.  
“Father.”, Dirthamen acknowledged Elgar’nan with a nod, but did not let go of her. “We were just leaving.”  
“With my escaped slave whom you have been hiding. I told you can’t keep Lavellan.” Falon’Din crossed his arms over his chest.  
“Especially since she is also a thief.” Sylaise added.  
“Stop spilling your ridiculous lies and accusations! Your ‘gift’ to Ghilan’nain started the whole mess, and there is no stolen sword since the weapon in question is still on the ground, right next to your big feet, Sylaise. You both are jealous idiots!” Dirthamen was starting to get truly angry. “I have better things to do than listen your petty lies, or how you blame the very person who is responsible for saving mother from assassination attempt! If anything, she should be rewarded, not accused!”  
“And you are trying to mislead us so you can sneak away with my slave.” Falon’Din was not giving in. “I know her; no matter what false identity or background story you have crafted, she is Lavellan.”  
“I’ve said you already. She is not a slave, or a thief, but my love.” Dirthamen lost it. He removed the hair clasp holding Roshan’s illusion mask on place and threw the piece of jewellery on Falon’Din’s head. It was a fine throw, Roshan thought, feeling stunned. The sharp needle would have impaled Falon’Din’s eye if one of Unfallen – Vunora, most likely – had not caught it in a middle of flight.  
“Are you happy now?” Dirthamen demanded, turning Roshan so they both faced Falon’Din. “No slave markings. Roshan is not your slave, but a free person.”  
“What have you done?” Solas asked with wide eyes. “Lavellan. _How?_ ”  
A frozen silence spread in the ruins of Mythal’s tent, and all eyes were on Roshan’s unmarked face. Dirthamen stood next to her, proud and defiant, glaring daggers on both Falon’Din and Sylaise.  
“It seems that our children have reached an impasse.” Mythal remarked.  “Falon’Din says that this woman is his slave, but there are no markings on her face. I knew Lavellan before she escaped, husband, and she did not look like this woman. She had blue eyes and Falon’Din’s markings.”  
“Whether this one is Falon’Din’s escaped slave or not, she is still a thief.” Sylaise announced. “I demand a punishment.”  
“If she is Falon’Din’s slave, Falon’Din may speak on her behalf. But a free person, with no ties or no patron… A sad fate.” Mythal said, placing her hand on Elgar’nan’s arm. Something unsaid passed between them.  
“Indeed.”, Elgar’nan nodded gravelly, addressing his sentinels. “Senris, imprison the woman Dirthamen is holding and take her to dungeons. There has been assassination attempt towards my wife, and this woman is a witness, who is also accused for two serious crimes by two different rulers of the realm. I will deal with this matter later.”  
“No, father.” Dirthamen said, not letting go of Roshan’s arm. “You will not take her away. People rot in your dungeons for whole eons, and she is innocent. Roshan saved mother.”  
Elgar’nan’s people were not listening, and a stern-looking man in golden armor grabbed Roshan by shoulder. Elgar’nan ignored the whole issue.  
“Father.”, Dirthamen repeated. “I demand an expedited, private trial.”  
“You do? Based on what? You are not her patron, obviously, since her face is unmarked. And stuffing your tongue in her mouth doesn’t qualify as patronage in my court. Otherwise I would have no time for anything else than judging your paramours.” Elgar’nan replied.  
Falon’Din snickered, and Sylaise crossed her arms over her chest, radiating disapproval. The man holding Roshan’s arm yanked her.  
“Time to get going.” he said coolly to Roshan. “This is your final warning.  If you don’t let go of him, you will come without your hand.”  
“She is not my paramour.” Dirthamen announced in firm, loud voice. “We are courting.”  
That made Elgar’nan turn around instantly. As well as Mythal, and everyone else. Dirthamen truly was an excellent liar, Roshan noted. He made it sound earnest. Almost believable, even though it couldn’t be.  
“Ah.”, Elgar’nan said finally. “In that case, not the dungeons, Senris. Find an empty room in my estate and lock her in.”  
Roshan was still so shocked that when Senris yanked again, her fingers let go of Dirthamen’s hand, and she almost fell. Making a quick appraisal of her current half-healed state, Senris must have decided she couldn’t stand on her own two feet, because he lifted her up and practically carried her away. Roshan knew that she should have done something, but her mind was completely blank, and she couldn’t think anything.  
“For your sake, Dirthamen, there must be a proper judgement. Accusations of thievery and slavery must be proven, and there are other considerations…”, Mythal’s voice vanished in the distance when Senris procured a flying aravel from somewhere  - this one was pulled by burning horses – and told Roshan to sit on the bench. She did so, and aravel took flight.

\--

 

Solas’ treatise on improving the lives of slaves and proposing an alternative economic system was declined. The timing could not have been worse. The failed hunt and its outcome was on everyone’s lips, and uttering the word ‘slave’ made everyone talk about whether it was true that Dirthamen was truly courting an escaped slave. It could not be true, most people said, because this was an Evanuris they were talking about, and the one who had voted against slave bonds. Some claimed it was just quick lie, but only thing people agreed on was the fact that woman Dirthamen had brought to Arlathan did not have markings on her face, and there was no way to get rid of them. Except, few people pointed out, maybe there was a secret to it, and Dirthamen kept it from others.

Ghilan’nain was blamed for creating a beast which had dared to attack Mythal and Sylaise. She defended herself loudly, and Andruil sided with Ghilan’nain, stating that the whole purpose of a hunt was fighting a beast. Sylaise and Mythal had practically stolen her kill after pretending not to take part in the hunt.

There were murmured whispers about Falon’Din’s growing power. If Falon’Din had slaves which were dangerous enough to be put down by two Evanuris, maybe there was truth to his claims of power. Many of most ambitious put their loyalties with Falon’Din, and it seemed that their services were rewarded generously. It was said that Falon’Din had some secret source of power, the blue substance which had given terrifying strength to Ghilan’nain’s creature, and it gave unseen powers to mage who drank it.  Nobody knew if it was true, because Falon’Din’s people said nothing, and he soon withdrew his forces inside the borders of his realm where he laid out plans for his inevitable victory.

Elgar’nan took his time with judgement. Despite Dirthamen’s attempts to find out what his father planned, his motives remained hidden. Finally, almost two weeks after Andruil’s hunt, Eldest of the Sun was ready to make his decision.

 

When Roshan was summoned to courtroom, she found it almost empty. Elgar’nan sat on his bright throne, but there was no sign of anyone else, and Senris closed the door after she entered.  
“I have pieced together a story my wife and son both swear is true. My wife’s servant Solas also confirms it. Are you Roshan, from village of Lavellan, from Falon’Din’s realm?” Elgar’nan fixed his stern eyes on her.  
“Yes.” Roshan replied, trying to keep her voice calm.  
“But you don’t have slave markings. Why?” the Eldest of Sun leaned against his elbow, watching her like a cat.  
Roshan lifted her chin up.  
“My face got melted off. By a dragon.” she said defiantly. “I don’t have them anymore, so I’m free.”  
Elgar’nan arched his eyebrows, and for a moment, Roshan was certain he was going to kill her.  
“Good for you.” the leader of Evanuris said instead. “Did it hurt much?”  
“Yes.”  
“Do you think it was worth the pain?”  
“Yes.” Roshan said again, knowing she was certain.  
The look on Elgar’nan’s face was ironic, and he gave her a slight nod.  
“What you say is supported by stories of my other witnesses. They have also pointed out that there is no precedent of removing slave markings. The law of Elvhenan is clear in this manner; a person with vallaslin is a slave, while a person without is free. Therefore, you are free.” Elgar’nan stated. “But we cannot have people chasing sacred beasts in hopes of burning off their markings, either, or trying to steal others’ servants from them. You will never tell anyone how you did it or you will die. A geas will be placed to ensure that. Those seeking for freedom should find it on their own. Otherwise it’s worth nothing.”  
Roshan nodded, her sudden joy much quieted.  
“I have informed Falon’Din that you don’t have a single trace of his markings on your face or on your body, and therefore you are not the person he is seeking for. This is clearly a matter of mistaken identity. I would give you a vallaslin, and my wife has requested you for her own service, but Dirthamen sticks to his claim of courting you, and it would be unseemly to make you a slave. Unfortunately, it creates another problem.” Elgar’nan said, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his throne.  
“My son is one of Evanuris. He is a king of his own country. According to our new laws on bonds, and my personal opinion as his father, you are not worthy of his hand. You have no reputation or property. But he insists, and I like your spunk. Therefore I have decided you are guilty of stealing my wife’s sword like Sylaise accused you, but because you used the sword to hold back a maddened beast threating my wife and did not keep the weapon, I’m lenient. As a punishment, you are sentenced to forced labour for a hundred years.”  
“You say that you like me, and then you sentence me into work camp?” Roshan couldn’t hold it.  
“I have not finished yet.” Elgar’nan said. “I have a very specific camp in mind. There is a border camp in northern front against the Nameless. It is somewhat important position strategically, but nothing we could not afford to lose. However, in right hands, there could be much to gain. Your punishment is to work there, as the commander of camp, and you will be paid according to your position. If you gain ground, I’ll give you a bonus, and a rank of General for first fortress your forces take.”  
“You are effectively hiring me? In your military?” Roshan didn’t believe her own ears.  
“Why not? I can do whatever I want.” Elgar’nan informed her. “You are no Evanuris, so you will never be equal to my son, but I don’t want to see him bond a pauper, either. At very least you should be able to provide your own living and a bonding gift which isn’t embarrassingly small. Show me two hundred thousand platinum coins, and we can start talking about details.”  
“A commander might get seven platinum a year. If she is a good one.” Roshan said, looking at Elgar’nan.  
“I would rise through the ranks quickly, then. A general gets twenty.” Elgar’nan shrugged. “My son is not exactly known for long relationships with women. And his claim of courting you is right now the only thing holding everyone back from giving you a vallaslin and shipping you back to Falon’Din. It would be simplest way to solve the whole problem.”  
“If you tried to give me a vallaslin, it would not stick. We tested it with my healers. My face can’t be cut anymore. Blood magic just slides off.” Roshan said.  
“I thought it might be so. Dragon’s fire is magical by nature, and works oddly sometimes. But if you don’t feel like becoming a proper, serious suitor for my younger son, I can always kill you. It’s the second option. Much quicker and easier than saving two hundred thousand platinum from army wages.”  
“All right.” Roshan decided, drawing a deep breath. “It is good that I never got used to luxuries. Like sleeping in real bed. Furniture is expensive.”  
“Don’t even think of borrowing the money from anyone. I have asked Senris to keep books on your savings. You have to earn every single coin, and if you try to steal my innocent son’s heart under false pretences, I will be very hurt. And you will be very dead.” Elgar’nan added the final touch.  
“Oh, fenedhis lasa.” Roshan cursed heartily.

Elgar’nan had difficulties to keep his face neutral as she stalked out. But he had a long experience on playing practical jokes on people, and this one was particularly good, so it was not to be ruined too early. He only started to laugh after Senris closed the doors after the new commander. This was going to be so much fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is effectively the end of story arc one. The next part will deal with Falon'Din's megalomanic phase, the introduction of lyrium into Elvhenan society, finding two new races (dwarves and humans), and consequences of dragons leaving. 
> 
> The next chapter will start a hundred years later, when Elgar'nan's forces prepare an important assault against Anaris and a new intelligence officer calling himself Hadmentir arrives to join General Lavellan's forces.
> 
> "You're in the army now" *nods* And Roshan still doesn't have a proper bed, because furniture is damned expensive in frontier.


	10. The Age of Lyrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din declares a dawn of a new age. Age of lyrium.

The gathering of Evanuris always ended with a period of seclusion, when the leaders of Elvhenan withdrew from public eye and spent time meditating on the future of their kingdoms. Accompanied only by their most trusted servants, the Evanuris weighed different options presented during the weeks of negotiation and charted out the course for next century among People. Some said that they used the time to prepare for magic rituals, because June often built artefacts after he returned to his people, but nobody really knew what they did. Not that lower classes wanted to know; the secluded months meant unusual degree of freedom for those who had accompanied their masters to Arlathan but who were not high-ranking enough to attend Evanuris during their vigil. It lasted for almost a full year, and ended with a great celebration. For temporarily dismissed servants of Evanuris, the celebration began much more early.

Unfortunately, celebration was not on the cards for Roshan. She sat on her bed in Elgar’nan’s barracks and tried to focus on her book. The topic was challenging enough without the noise coming from officers’ mess. Even though Unfallen training was clearly superior when it came to actual fighting, Roshan knew she was terribly behind in topics like arranging supply trains or war camp management. She had good eye for tactics, but no grasp for a strategy, and her snobbish compatriots liked nothing better than point out her mistakes. The fact that they were sons and daughters of nobles, and she was a convicted prisoner, did not help. Her disdain towards the idiots didn’t exactly make it better, either.

The noise from mess was getting louder, and she wished she could risk a silence spell. But considering she had won the weapons test today and likely would beat her so-called companions in blood magic tomorrow, knife between ribs was a possibility. They might have superior education and better manners, but young nobles were vicious bunch when they felt threatened. Luckily, they lacked the imagination of Falon’Din’s Chosen. Roshan had survived through several purges in Falon’Din’s temple; she was fairly confident she could handle other commanders-in-training.

Roshan turned a page and tried to focus on yet another diagram of troop movements. There was going to be a final quiz next week. She would finish this stupid training course, gain the rank Elgar’nan had promised and get out from here. Running a labour camp in northern jungle was starting to feel better prospect every day.

“Hello, Fenarel.” a smirking face of a sergeant appeared at the door.  
“Stop calling me that.” Roshan said, putting the book down.  
“I was given a letter to pass to you. Unfortunately, I seem to have misplaced it when I visited the lavatory. But wild beasts like digging and rolling in shit, I’m told.” the woman grinned.  
Roshan narrowed her eyes, focusing her magic. She could smell a faint scent of blood on the woman. A scratch on her leg. It was not deep, already dried up. But dried blood was still blood. Her spell rose like a hungry shadow behind the obnoxious sergeant, and Roshan smiled.

\--

Senris slowly pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched the soldiers standing in front of him. The younger daughter of Marquis Telahmis, Sergeant U’vunlea, was smelling like shit. Her brother Souren, who was one of lieutenant commanders, was no better. Judging by the smell and the state of their clothes, it looked like they had rolled in it. Elgar’nan’s coppery gold armour and crimson vestments were stained. The third soldier was spotlessly clean. Whether she smelled the same, Senris could not tell, but he doubted it. Roshan was wrinkling her nose and breathing through her mouth.

Senris took a deep breath, and repented it immediately afterwards because the smell was rather strong. But he did not let his expression waver.  
“Captain Nehin told me that you three are responsible of sudden explosion of barracks lavatory. Is it true?” Senris asked dryly.  
“She started it!” sergeant U’vunlea pointed at Roshan. “She used blood magic on me, forcing me to dive into shit because I accidentally dropped her letter from the hole. When Souren saw it, he tried to help, and she made him to follow, too!”  
“Can you prove it?” Senris asked practically.  
“There is no need for proof! We would never—“, Souren began, but Senris glared at him, and the boy decided it was better idea to stay silent.  
“I have not injured either of them in any way.” Roshan said calmly, studying her nails. They were perfectly clean. “I own no personal weapons, as all other lieutenant commanders sharing the barracks have repeatedly pointed out, so I’m unable to wield a blade outside training hours.”  
“And how this excuses you from accusations of using blood magic on your fellow soldiers?” Senris asked.  
“Captain Cisar says that a knife and sample of target’s blood are basic requirements for blood magic, and he is considered an expert on blood magic in this fine academy.” Roshan said neutrally. “I haven’t touched either of these people or cut them. Like I said, I lack the basic components. I don’t own even a pocket knife.”  
“Do you disagree with Captain Cisar?” Senris asked.  
“I wouldn’t dream of criticizing the quality of training offered to Elgar’nan’s soldiers.” Roshan replied.  
Of course, Senris thought dryly. This one was Falon’Din’s, through and through.  Blood mages did not dream. He would need to look into replacing Cisar with someone better.  
“How do you explain what happened, lieutenant commander?” Senris asked from Roshan.  
“I believe these poor people were struck by a hex. The letter in question was addressed to me personally. Dropping it into a privy…” Roshan shook her head, looking tragic. “One should truly know better than to treat a message from God of Vengeance with such _disrespect_.”  
“Lieutenant commander Souren. Did you touch a letter?” Senris turned to smelly noble.  
“I believe I have it here.” Souren answered uneasily and placed a stained, wet piece of paper on Senris’ desk. Senris stared at it. It was disgusting, but the signature of his lord was well enough forged, so he couldn’t burn it just yet. The letter was a simple copy written by a treasurer clerk which informed that Roshan had earned four platinum in last six months.

“It is obvious to me what happened.” Senris decided ten minutes later. The smell was getting to him.  
“Sergeant U’vunlea. From now on, I expect you to deliver messages without accidents when you are serving at the gates.  If I ever again catch you treating official letter with such disrespect, today will be smallest of the disgraces your house will suffer. You and your brother are excused to clean the mess in the barracks yard, swiftly and without delay.”  
The lieutenant commander gave a dark glare at Roshan, who was unfazed.  
“You will stay for a punishment.” Senris told Roshan. “I don’t suffer insolence among my recruits, and a senior officer should know better than to wise off in front of superior.”  
The nobles exiting the room looked pleased, and Senris saw those exchanging righteous glances.  
“Shut the door, please.” Senris said to Roshan. He didn’t want the siblings to touch the handle with their dirty hands.

The moment they were alone in the room, Senris set the smelly letter in fire and opened a window.  
“What were you thinking?” he asked sharply from Roshan.  
Roshan did not answer.  
“Don’t play stupid with me.”, Senris glared at her. “I know you did it. I can even understand why you did it. I get reports from the barracks. But if you ever attempt to rise through ranks, you can’t make enemies like this. You are no longer a cutthroat in service of a bloodthirsty king. Being general means working with others.”  
“I’m not here to make friends.” Roshan replied sharply. “I’m here because I’m a prisoner. Dirthamen misspoke in a hurry, and your lord is playing a sadistic joke on me. I don’t find it amusing. If you expect me to stand by and let my ‘fellows’ to rub my face in the mud, you should tell your lord to reconsider. Among Falon’Din’s people, no sergeant would ever have dared to treat me like your people do.”  
Senris looked at her, waiting.  
“And your blood magic expert doesn’t know a shit about what he’s teaching.” Roshan added, crossing her arms over her chest.  
“You don’t want to court Dirthamen?” Senris asked with curiosity. He remembered their first meeting when his lord had told him to imprison the pretty woman in luxurious silks. A gold digger.  
“The situation was unexpected, and I am grateful for his attempt to intervene.” Roshan replied, not meeting his gaze. “I prefer barracks to dungeons.”  
“Practical.” Senris leaned backwards in his chair.  
“If I could choose, I would work in a bakery.” Roshan said dryly. “Maybe establish one, if I was feeling really ambitious.”  
“I wanted to raise horses.” Senris replied in deadpan voice. “It didn’t work out.”  
“Of course it did not. But could we get to that punishment part?” Roshan requested. “They are likely ripping my bedding as we speak, and ruining the library book beyond use. Replacing them is costly, so I would prefer to go back while there is something to save still.”  
“No.”, Senris said. “If you go back now without a punishment, they will think I favour your unfairly, and it will make things harder.”  
“What, then?” she asked.  
“There is a window.” Senris nodded towards it. “Stay out of sight two days, and then we will spar in the main yard. I don’t make a habit of sparring with recruits, since it is waste of my time. But if you can keep up for longer than a minute, it should give you relative peace in the barracks. People respect what they can’t beat.”  
“A good plan. Why?” Roshan asked.  
“Like I said, I wanted to raise horses. Now, get out.” Senris said and nodded towards the window again.

\--

“Never thought I would see you like this.” Shathor shook his head. “All shiny and red in Elgar’nan’s colours. I almost feel sick.”  
“How did you even get here?” Isenril asked with admiration. “I would have thought that the guards stopped people well before gates.”  
“As I would have walked through the gates and asked if I can bunk with Unfallen for a night?” Roshan said, pulling off the crimson cloak and starting to undo the copper armor.  “I was told to get lost, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go. With Evanuris in seclusion, I was fairly sure Falon’Din wasn’t here.”  
“No, he took off with Vunora and few others almost six months ago. The armor looks fancy. Is it any good?” Shathor asked with interest.  
“Not really. Ours is better. Bring me something decent to wear and I’ll let you have a look.” Roshan offered.  
“Black fatigues?” Isenril asked. “It’s not like we have anything else.”  
“I didn’t expect anything else. It’s fine. Colours are overrated.” Roshan said.    
She pulled the soft fabric over her head. It smelled fresh, and nice. When it came to clothing, Unfallen had much better clothes. Tailored to size, since they all were of same height. Elgar’nan didn’t mind the diversity of different shapes among his soldiers, and therefore the regular clothes didn’t fit as well.

Maybe she should have gone to Dirthamen, Roshan thought, but she would have felt like an idiot marching in and asking if Dirthamen would break his seclusion because she decided to visit. She did not want to meddle in Evanuris business. There was Elgar’nan to consider, too. The Eldest had made it clear that she should stay away from his son until she had managed to save a fortune. Roshan had made calculations; if she managed to rise through ranks and become general, it would still take her ten thousand years with regular salary. A cruel practical joke, which was not worth getting killed for. So banging at the gates was out of question. She didn’t even know where Dirthamen was. Likely not in Arlathan, since Falon’Din wasn’t here either.

Her old bunk between Vunora and Isenril was empty, and she climbed in. She exchanged a few words with Shathor and Isenril, like she had always done, and then closed her eyes waiting for sleep.  
She listened the familiar breathing of her friends, and pulled the blankets all way to her neck. She did not miss Falon’Din, or being a slave, but Roshan could not deny that it felt good to be home. Even for a night.

\--

“How do you feel?” Falon’Din asked, sitting down on the edge of bed.  
Vunora summoned a tired smile for his lord, trying to ignore the small sounds coming from the cradle.  
“I’m fine.” she said hoarsely.  
It was fourth time she had given birth, and like most things, it got easier when her body adjusted. This part was the hardest, and Vunora wished it would be over soon. She swallowed, feeling emotional even though she knew better. After first time she had tried her best not to get attached. Ignoring the changes of her body and fluttering movements of a child was necessary. She had never been strong enough to look at any of them, and so many years had passed that she had forgotten the sound of their voices, too.

Falon’Din was different in that regard. Stronger. He always looked at them, and held them for a moment, before they were taken away. There was nobility in him, and sorrow, and frustrated anger. Falon’Din had never told Vunora any details about them. Whether they had been sons or daughters, whether they had taken after him or her. It was easier not to know, and her lord was kind to her.  
“Don’t weep.” he said softly, and Vunora bit her lip, trying to will tears away from her eyes.  
The baby was cooing louder now, calling for her, and even though Vunora was not a mother but the commander of Unfallen, her body thought differently. Without thinking, she turned her exhausted gaze towards the sound, and Falon’Din stood up.  He walked to cradle, and bent down to lift the child up.  
Vunora squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the sound of door opening. A servant had been posted there to wait for the tribute.

She thought of Roshan Lavellan. Vunora had hoped that the girl would have slain the dragon, and saved them from fourth time, but it had been wishful thinking. Dirthamen had lied to his brother about the dragon’s death, presenting a false tooth. Vunora wondered if her favourite protégé was paying the same price as she, now, and whether the Keeper of Secrets had been as forthcoming with the truth as Falon’Din. If Dirthamen held them, too, and remembered their little faces. Vunora doubted it. It took exceptional courage, and Falon’Din had never lacked bravery. She loved him for doing what she could not.

Vunora waited for a long time, but the door did not open. There was no noise either. Finally she opened her eyes and saw Falon’Din still standing by the cradle, watching the bundle in his arms.  
“My lord… Is there something wrong with the tribute? Is it not suitable?” she asked weakly.  
“It’s not a tribute. It’s a baby.” Falon’Din said with sudden note of anger. Vunora saw a tuff of black hair peeking from the blankets, and it made her heart hurt. Knowing any details made this only harder.  
“A perfect boy. Just as perfect as the two girls and a boy before this one. Geldauran can go fuck herself. I’m not going to feed any more of my children to mother’s pet lizard, no matter what others say. They are weak, but I’m not.”  
Vunora felt like choking.  
“But my lord—“  
“I have lyrium now. I am no longer a king, who has to bow to a whims of dragons, but a living god, and I will not bow.” Falon’Din announced, holding the baby. “Mythal is wrong. We don’t need Geldauran and the rest of them. There are other sources of great power than dragon’s blood, and I will not trade mine for hers anymore. Let others offer tributes. I’m not weak like them.”  
He strode to Vunora and gave the bundle to her limp arms. Vunora found herself staring at infant with downy black hair and fine features. He looked much like his father. Beautiful, she thought, and blinked tears from her eyes.  
“The baby will stay here, in the temple and you shall keep him. Mythal’s agreement with Geldauran is over.” Falon’Din promised.  
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Vunora broke in tears of relief as she held the baby tightly against her chest, feeling like her heart was going to shatter. “I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—“  
“I know, love.” Falon’Din said gently. “You are too loyal to attempt to keep what you could not. But the time of dragons is over, and I will not give up anything more to them. You can raise and keep any children we may have, and none of them will be sacrificed to dragons. This is a dawn of a new age.”

 

Falon’Din sat in a rocking chair, rocking back and forth. The child was warm in his arms, and the weight of him was pleasing. Falon’Din had other things to do, a world to conquer, but now he waited. The window was open, but his guest had not arrived yet to collect.

Night fell, and Vunora slept, exhaustion clearly written on her strong features. She had never been beautiful, Falon’Din thought, but it was not beauty he loved. It was the sacrifice in her nature. She would have given him whatever he asked, without second thoughts, without reservation. She had done so for all these years. A slip of a girl she had been when she had first been brought to his temple.  
Falon’Din always kissed them all when they came to him, and held their hand as they cut ties to their former lives. Unfallen were special to him, but even among them, he had his favourites, and he loved Vunora. Falon’Din was not sure how it had happened.  Years built on years, maybe, new secrets joining the secrets kept, memories added to existing ones until everything just melt together, creating a something  different. It was a strange bond, invisible as a shadow but strong enough to make him stay his hand when all other Unfallen were purged for the failure of his champion. Because Vunora loved him best, and would never fail him.

He held the child, watching the little chest rise and fall. The first boy had lived for some years, almost seven, before Geldauran had called for her tribute. Falon’Din remembered him well. The child had never been named, none of them ever were, but he had been beautiful, too. After that, Falon’Din had decided it was best to time these things more efficiently. The first girl had a tiny mouth which looked like rose bud, and their second daughter had her mother’s eyes. Falon’Din had squeezed every last drop of dragon blood away from the tribute he had gotten in return, and used it in a war against June. He never wasted lives of his followers.

The baby moved in his sleep, burrowing closer to warmth, and Falon’Din adjusted his arm. This one needed a name, a thought came to him. It was no use to name the dead, but this one would live.  
“I will call you Tarlin.” he told the baby as a raven flew through an open window.  
“That might not be wise.” Dirthamen warned as he landed on the floor. “You should not get attached.”  
Falon’Din arched a perfect eyebrow.  
“Doing mother’s dirty work again, brother?” he asked with scorn.  The baby stirred.  
“Stop it.”, Dirthamen replied. “I’ve had enough of that today. The contract is between Mythal and Geldauran; I’m merely a messenger.”  
“Good. I have a message for them both.” Falon’Din said, starting to rock again. “Two words: no deal.”  
That took Dirthamen by surprise.  
“Are you certain? The loss of power is not insignificant.” Dirthamen said carefully.  
“I have other, better sources than pitiful second-rate dragonlings mother’s pet lizard is willing to trade.” Falon’Din said with disdain. “Besides, the agreement is unfair. Why mother and father get power for free, while we have to beget children to be sacrificed? It’s humiliating.”  
His eyes were angry as he looked at Dirthamen.  
“I’m fed up with worshipping lizards, brother. Nothing negative has happened after Geldauran left. Mother is wrong. We don’t need dragons to be great. You can continue playing a price stud for Sylaise and Andruil and Ghilan’nain, trying to please our mother. I have lost my interest in that. Her plans about bringing power into our line are mistaken. A child draconic enough to become the beast mother so desperately wants is not only way to beat Geldauran.”  
“Dragons’ blood was needed when mother and father rose to power. It is still needed.”  
“Power comes to those who take it.”, Falon’Din replied sharply. “And it is not found between woman’s thighs, no matter what mother believes.”  
He pulled out a small blue vial from his pocket and threw it to Dirthamen.  
“A taste of true power for you, brother. Try it. When you have decided to make this real war instead of mock one, you know where to find Me.”, Falon’Din said.  
Dirthamen weighed the small vial in his hand, then nodded and vanished without another word. Falon’Din stood up and closed the window after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Some of the rumours said that last child he had, had grown up to be more beautiful than Falon’Din, while others said that the child had been too ugly to be allowed to live. He had been dead for centuries in any case, so it hardly mattered."
> 
> \- Roshan in chapter two about Falon'Din's children.


	11. The Age of Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roshan throws a tantrum.

“I will never get over the way you look. Or your company.” Shathor said and gestured for more drinks.  “I knew I had gotten into bad habit of drinking with Solas, but you are even worse. Why do you have to bring him every week? And why you keep wearing colours? There is nothing wrong with black.”  
“The uniform is free, and I can’t get rid of him.” Roshan said apologetically.  
“She is my lord’s prisoner.” Senris said, tasting his tankard of beer.  
“A prisoner in Arlathan’s seediest tavern?” Isenril asked.  
Senris gave a calculating look to his surroundings.  
“I’ve been to far worse places in my time. The beer is good.” he decided.  
Shathor consider his statement and shrugged.  
“We can get back to kicking your ass when our lord comes back.”  
“You couldn’t kick my ass even if you tried. But agreed.” Senris allowed.  
“Felassan! Inolan! This way!” Roshan stood up, waving to elves approaching through the crowd.

 

One of the musicians, an older man belonging to Falon’Din, had summoned a spirit of Glory into crowd, and Roshan admired the shining vastness of it. She had never seen anything so grand. Even Shathor and Senris, who were supposed to be too old to be impressed by anything, were drawn to touch it. Isenril’s eyes were lit with excitement, and the rapturous expression on his face when the spirit brushed against him, made Roshan laugh.  
“Even Senris’ opinion of Falon’Din’s glory seems to be vastly changed.” Felassan remarked with amusement. “I want to try it, too.”  
He vanished in the crowd, trying to make his way to Glory before the spirit would leave.  
“What about you? Do you want to feel it?” Roshan asked Inolan. Dirthamen’s healer had been quiet for whole night. At first, Roshan had thought it was because Senris and Solas were new to her, but the strange quietness had remained between them even after everyone else got lured by Glory.  
Inolan looked conflicted. Then she took Roshan’s hand, and started to pull her away from the crowd.  
“I need to have word with you. In private.” she said, and Roshan followed.

The women’s bathroom was empty, and Inolan cast a barrier spell to keep others from entering.  
“What is it? Is something wrong?” Roshan asked. She felt a bit uneasy despite the alcohol and magic making her feel relaxed and happy. This was Inolan, who had cared for her and could have killed her for dozen times when she hovered on brink of death, but still...  
Inolan cast a spell of silence to keep their words from being heard by speaking fountain which supplied fresh water for washing. Then a third spell, which obscured the room with mist. A precaution against lip reading, Roshan understood, and she felt cold. This was something bad.  
“It’s my lord.” Inolan said with some difficulty. “I have been engaged in confidential task after we went on our separate ways and... I’m sorry, Roshan. But you were so happy, and I didn’t want to ruin it.”  
“What is it?” Roshan asked, anxiety seeping into her bones. “What did he ask from you?”  
“There is no nice way to say it, so I’m going to be blunt.” Inolan said, wringing her hands. “Do you know lady Solina of Esvalean? The niece of Dirthamen’s Highest One?”  
“I can’t say I have ever met her. It’s not like we move in similar circles.” Roshan replied. She did not like the sound of this. Not at all. Straightening her posture, she steeled herself and continued:  
“But if you are telling me he has been fucking her, I can’t say I’m surprised. He used to sleep with everything which moves, and...” she swallowed painfully “it’s not like a fib about courting could change that.”  
“It’s not that.” Inolan said. “They had a baby.”  
“What?” Roshan’s pleasant intoxication vanished instantly.  
“Yes. When I left you, I was assigned to tend lady Solina’s pregnancy and make certain everything went well. After you... After Ghilan’nain’s hunt, when the council ended and Evanuris went into seclusion, my lord joined lady Solina at her estate. They had a baby girl a week ago. I was the midwife.”  
_“They?_ ” Roshan repeated. “Not _she_? He acknowledged the baby as his? Whenever he spoke of my baby, the one Falon’Din killed, it was always _mine_.”  
Inolan simply nodded, her eyes sad.  
Roshan’s lips were trembling, and she breathed in rapid, sharp breaths as she tried to control her feelings. The itching between her shoulder blades was more like burn, now.  
“She was already pregnant when he told everyone that we were courting. She got a baby, and I got stuck in debtor’s prison for ten thousand years, becoming the laughing stock of whole Elvhenan. A slave with high aspirations. Oh, the _bastard_.” Roshan’s voice rose.  
“I didn’t want to court him! I told him I needed time, and he said that we had all the time in the world. What fucking time? He had baby in the way, and never bothered to say a word, because he’s Evanuris and he thinks he can have it all. Well, he can’t! I’m no longer putting up with him. He can keep his lady Solina and his perfect baby.” she screamed.  
“I’m so sorry.” Inolan said simply.  
Roshan was visibly trembling with anger, now. She felt like she was burning. Or like the time when she had been hit with Nameless curse. Her skin felt too tight, and her magic was twisting and pulling oddly. The burn was spreading from her shoulder blades all over her body, and it felt like being drunk on blood magic. Suddenly the world wavered around her, moving closer and then further, making odd things to her vision. It was like battle madness, some distant part of Roshan’s mind noticed, but it came from the inside.  
Inolan noticed it too, because her compassionate expression had changed into something between worry and fear. She started to cast a probing spell.  
“Roshan? Are you all right?” Inolan asked in her healer’s voice. Roshan remembered it well. “Is it the itch?”  
“I’m not all right! I’ll never be all right! My baby was a mess on Falon’Din’s floor, and he walked over it!” Roshan screamed at Inolan, and then her world suddenly stopped.

There was a very loud snap, and tearing pain between her shoulder blades. Her skin ripped open, and she could feel something pushing out from her back. The high keening sound of pain rose from Roshan’s throat, but it changed in the air into furious inhuman roar which sounded much larger than any noise an elf could make. But Inolan was screaming now, too, and Roshan turned her head in panic. The thing sticking out from her back was a pair of wings. The scales of pale gold glistened in the light. They looked majestic.

The ripping sensation continued, and Roshan saw her flesh parting, revealing golden scales beneath. Her vision twisted and turned, and her body was growing alarmingly. Her vision swam, and she felt a dull pain her head as it hit the ceiling. Some part of her knew that she should panic. That she was going to die. But she could not think. It was like the thinking part of her mind had been pushed under the burning sensation while her feelings and instincts reigned supreme.

There were sounds of people hitting the door. She recognized some of the voices, but couldn’t’ remember their names. A blood-bound she-elf was trying to dissolve the barrier, screaming something, but she could not remember words of the language.

Run. No. Fly.

Her lover. His easy smiles and skilled hands, his lovely black hair and the smile on his lips for someone else.

Her hatchling a bloody mess on floor.

Only hers, not his, because she was not good enough. But the other one was. He thought so. He dared. The betrayer. The liar, who always left her when she needed him most.

Insulted pride filled the dragon’s heart.

The jealousy burned hotter.

Anger turned brighter.

Something pulled her away from here. It tasted like burning wine on her forked tongue. Mother was calling for her. She sang the song of dragons, too sharp and high to hear with tiny sharp ears.

The dragon screamed and broke through the roof.

\--

 

“This can’t be all.” Mythal said as great red dragon pushed five skinny dragonlings forward.  
They were damaged. Even though Dirthamen did not share his mother’s fascination with species, even he could tell that much. One had squint eye, while other was barely a size of a large dog. None of them were large, or strong. Dirthamen had accompanied Mythal to this unhappy task for too many times, and never before they had been offered such a pitiful bounty.  
“We kept our agreement, Geldauran. We brought you what you demanded.” Mythal stared icily at the dragon. Her voice echoed sharply from the stone walls lining the small valley around them.  
Dirthamen had never heard the creature’s name before. He looked at the dragonglings, and then at five gilded boxes on the ground. They were empty and stained now, and the memory made bile rise to his throat. No matter how many times he saw the great dragon accept the tribute, it never got easier.  
But his expression stayed cold, and he kept his composure. It was the reason why Mythal and Dirthamen were ones to handle the trade. Something like this had to be kept in a family. They could not bring Elgar’nan here, and Falon’Din had always hated the price paid for dragon’s blood.  
“Is it not a fair trade?” Geldauran asked, watching them with black dragon’s eyes. “Five of your young for five of mine.”  
“Previously you have given us fourteen.” Dirthamen said.  
The dragon cocked its massive head on side, almost purring.  
“But I should be given two children more, Mythal’s son. You should know better than try to deceive me.”  
 “There was only one missing.” Mythal said harshly. “I already told you that Falon’Din has decided to stay out of this trade.”  
“Falon’Din, Falon’Din. I’m growing very tired of hearing that name.” Geldauran said.  
From corner of his eye, Dirthamen saw more dragons appearing on the cliff on the left. Five drakes, and several large dragonlings with stumps not yet turned into wings. Another three drakes appeared on right.  
“It is little over one seasons’ turn since I last heard that name. Falon’Din had twisted and turned the most promising daughter of my latest hatch, binding her with dirty blood magic. You still have not repaid that debt.” Geldauran hissed.  
The forked tongue of dragon brushed Dirthamen’s face, and he grimaced, wiping his face with his sleeve.  
“This one promised to help my poor child. I allowed you to take my baby and heal her. But where is she? Tell me, Mythal, where is my daughter?”  
“I asked you the same question once.” there was a brittle expression of frozen fury on Mythal’s face.  
“I remember her.”, the dragon said, great jaws curving into something which looked like a mocking smile. “One of the People, young and bright. You held hands as you came to me. But it was long time ago, and you have broken our agreement. I miss tribute from Falon’Din. “  
Dirthamen looked at Mythal, quietly starting to gather his mana for a fight.  
“One child from each Evanuris.” Geldauran reminded with sweetness. “I don’t ask more from you than you ask from me. Since you have kept my daughter from me, I fear there is no other choice than make my pick from your remaining children. There is no use for disobedient drakes.”  
“You will not have Falon’Din.” Mythal was holding her staff so hard that her knuckles were white. “Never.”  
A high-pitched, angry roar of a dragon cut through the air. It was coming from south. Geldauran blinked, and looked up in the ink-black darkness. The little dragonlings followed their mother’s example, and then promptly skittered away. The drakes were behaving oddly. Few of them sat down, and started to sing eerie song which made Dirthamen’s skin crawl. It was like hearing a melody with every other note missing. Even Mythal had frozen in place.  
“What in the Void they are doing?” Dirthamen hissed at his mother. He spread the fingers of his right hand to create a barrier, switching his staff to his better hand. The dragons were falling back.  
Mythal’s lips parted, and she was going to answer, but then her gaze focused on something behind Dirthamen.  A victorious smile spread on Mythal’s face, and she started to cackle. Dirthamen stared at his mother, unable to understand the reason for her sudden insanity, when something golden swooped down from the sky.

He barely had time to slam down his barriers, when a golden dragon attacked. It swung its tail, hitting his barriers with bruising force. The impact threw him on the ground.  
“I know, sweet.” Geldauran said, switching the language from draconic to elvish. “He’s a real bastard.”  
Dirthamen was trying to get up, cursing. The dragon screamed at him. It was not very large one, a young female, but apparently it hated his guts.

He sent a death hex towards the creature, but the dragon was fast: suddenly there was shimmering red swirl around it which reflected his spell back towards him. Dirthamen threw himself on the ground as the mortal curse flew past his head. The spell… It was a blood magic spell. He had seen it somewhere before.  
The beast attacked again, grabbing his staff between its jaws and biting it in half.  Dirthamen shifted his form. His grey dragon form was wingless, but still slightly larger than his opponent, and he had fought like this before.

There was something odd with the dragon. It did not behave like beast. It kept battering him with blood magic spells, and dispelling his barriers without care of how much damage the explosions caused to them both. The female dragon screamed when he breathed a blast of ice, but it didn’t repay the favour. Dirthamen didn’t get why, because breath weapon was the best advantage of this form, but then he didn’t have time to think because the dragon jumped on him, sending them both rolling on the ground. He caught a glimpse of his mother, who looked smug – damn her, what in the Void mother was _thinking_? – And Geldauran who mirrored the expression as finely as a dragon could - , but then his attacker’s teeth were on his neck, and the female dragon bit down.

Dirthamen screamed. The bite hurt like Void, and he felt a sudden snap of magic he could not identify. The sensation was much like when he prepared a spell in dreaming and forced his vision on waking world. Something settled on place, laid down like a geas, but it felt different. The world shifted, and his form wavered, and he closed his eyes before he would throw up.  
The golden dragon had been screaming whole time, but suddenly the noise changed into words. The weight over his chest was no longer crushing him.  
“Fenedhis lasa!  How could you? I know all about your lady Solina and the baby! You two-faced bastard! You always saunter away to someone else when there is trouble, leaving me to survive mess you make, and I’m done with it! I’m done with you!”  
“Vhenan?” Dirthamen  opened his eyes to see furious Roshan on top of him.  
“I’m not your vhenan! You don’t even listen! You never do, because you are high and mighty Evanuris, and I’m just a slave whose heart you like to stomp over.” she yelled. “But it is over now. I quit. You can keep your highborn lady and laugh with her how you made me fall in love with you, while I have to toil for ten thousand years for your hand. Which I don’t want anymore.”  
Dirthamen stared at her. The mark on his neck was still there despite changed form, and he absently cast a healing spell.  
“I wouldn’t have you even if Elgar’nan offered you on golden plate for me. I swear I will throw every last coin of your stupid dowry in sea, or buy beer with them, or give them to ladies of court so they can wear enchanted nails like Sylaise.”, Roshan swore furiously.  
“Gaidhalas—“, Dirthamen began, but her skin shimmered, starting to look a bit too scaly, so he corrected quickly: “Roshan. What are you doing here? How did you get here? What happened?”  
“I don’t know!” she spread her arms in anger. When he tried to touch her, she rolled off him, getting up. “But like I said, it’s not your problem. We’re done. Go back to chasing skirts and having babies and making false claims about courting people who aren’t good enough for you. I don’t care.”  
She wiped her eyes with angry gesture and looked around. Roshan’s eyes widened, as she seemed to finally realize her surroundings. She looked at cliffs, and drakes, and finally her gaze found Geldauran.  
“Oh, fenedhis lasa.” she cursed desperately. “It’s you. Mythal’s pet dragon.”  
Geldauran smiled widely and trilled a few odd notes.  
“Since you lured me here, you could at least tell which way is to Elvhenan.” Roshan said. The scowl on her face was much like Falon’Din’s.  
“North.”, Geldauran said, sounding very pleased.  
“Thanks.”, Roshan said dryly and looked up to sky to locate stars. Then she turned around and started to march towards south.


	12. The Age of Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old sacrifices are revealed and new ones made.

Roshan had taken only few steps towards south when Mythal’s voice stopped her.   
“There is only the Void that way.” Mythal remarked.   
“What other options I have?” Roshan asked, turning around. Her shoulders were hunched. “I can never go home now. I took the form of divine in middle of Arlathan! One moment I was drinking with my friends, and then my back ripped open and there were wings and incessant song which would not leave me be.”  
Her mouth was trembling, and she was on edge of tears.   
“I don’t understand any of this. I’m tired and frightened and nothing makes sense anymore. I want to go home.”  
“Do you even know where your home is, girl?” Mythal asked.   
Roshan blinked, swallowing hard.   
“In Falon’Din’s temple. Vunora, Shathor and Isenril are my family.” she said in small voice.  “Falon’Din was right about you. You knew this was going to happen, but you didn’t tell me. You just dropped impossible clues and played with me for your own amusement.”  
“Not for amusement. For good of the People and Elvhenan.” Mythal said. “We had an agreement. You wanted justice for Natha. I gave you the means to deliver it. I promised to teach you how to fly, and you promised to assist me in my work. Now our deal has been concluded. You flew and gave Dirthamen his wings. You have no idea how long I have waited for someone to mark him.”  
“Wings?” Dirthamen asked. The wound on his neck was burning.   
“I told you I flew over Arlathan with my second drake. The one I ate for infidelity. For someone calling himself Keeper of Secrets, you don’t listen much.” Geldauran remarked conversationally in draconic. “I think my baby should have eaten you, but she’s young, and she can always do it later if you keep being unsatisfactory.”  
“But Sylaise and Andruil?” he asked.   
“A foolish question.” Geldauran replied disdainfully. “Magic is matter of intent, and choosing a drake is matter of will. They did not want you badly enough.”  
“It is time for us to go, Dirthamen.” Mythal said. Raising her voice, she addressed Geldauran:   
“I trust you find this acceptable trade. Your daughter is returned in place of Falon’Din’s missing tribute, and we will take five dragonlings you promised to us.”  
“As you wish.” the great dragon nodded. It bared its teeth in a mockery of a smile. “We will see again in one hundred years, old friend.”  
Geldauran took flight. She cast a shadow over Evanuris as she passed them, heading out from the valley and to west. The drakes and wingless dragonlings turned to follow her, skittering over the snow. Only the five weak and misshapen dragonlings remained. They cried pitifully after Geldauran, and Mythal had to cast a barrier to keep them from following.

The Void was not a place where one could linger for long. Dirthamen had prepared for bitter cold with enchanted cloak and finest furs of Elvhenan, but he felt the bite of harsh wind on his face as he caught a dragonling by neck and sliced its throat open with knife, draining the blood into a gilded box they had brought for tributes. It was one of the rules. Geldauran allowed them to kill dragonlings here, but they could not take the bodies away, because the Void was place where dragons came to die. The ground was littered with bones. One year, Dirthamen recalled, Falon’Din had taken a femur with him to craft a staff from it. Next time they came to offer tributes, Geldauran had repaid the favour before she gave Falon’Din’s tribute to her children. It had been disgusting. Mythal and Dirthamen had to hold Falon’Din back physically, and he had never agreed to accompany them after that.

The valley where Geldauran and Evanuris met was located far south, nestled between high, foreboding mountains. The land was wild and harsh, and the air was freezing enough to make Dirthamen’s breath steam as he worked. Darkness came fast in this place, and he did not want to linger here a moment longer than he had to.

Dirthamen did not know exact location, and he suspected it was hidden with magic, because Andruil had tried to find the Void many times. She wanted to bring an army there, and finish the war once for all. But only way there was through a swirling portal which opened at the woods near Mythal’s summer palace every hundred years. Or, Dirthamen reminded himself, whatever way how Roshan had found them. He threw the last corpse away, casting a warming spell to thaw his numb fingers before he shut the box and piled it on top of two others.

Dirthamen lifted up his burden and looked towards Mythal, and found his mother standing between Roshan and the portal, holding two boxes.   
“Where will I go? What will I do now?” Roshan asked. There was a lost expression on her face, and she was shivering. She had always been sensitive to cold after the accident, Dirthamen remembered. The golden and crimson uniform of Elgar’nan’s officers was meant for much warmer climate.   
“Weren’t you a free person?” Mythal queried ironically. “You can go wherever you want. North, south, anywhere your feet or wings might take you. Elvhenan is not likely a good choice, considering you committed a tremendous crime and Elgar’nan will not be as merciful to you second time.”  
“Hundred years of imprisonment and ten thousand years of debt are not mercy.” Roshan said. She straightened her posture, and her expression changed. There was bitterness on her face, and something hard when she looked at Mythal.   
“If Evanuris keep treating everyone else like I have been treated, I swear there will be a day when you’ll regret—“  
“Finish that sentence, and it is you who shall regret.” Mythal warned calmly. “I have been a dragon far longer than you.”   
“As if I had anything left to lose.” Roshan snapped.   
“There is always something to lose. In your case, it shall be your name. Geldauran will not allow you to leave. ”, Mythal said. Her expression was wise, and sad. “For what it is worth, your sacrifice has not been in vain. Your name will be struck from the recordings, but you have saved the next generation of my grandchildren.”  
“Grandchildren? Dirthamen, what does she mean? The baby you had with lady Solina?” Roshan turned towards him.   
“Every hundred years, Geldauran demands a tribute of children from Evanuris in exchange for dragon’s blood we need for power.” he answered.   
“Did they become dragons, too?” she wondered.   
“No.”, Dirthamen replied with difficulty. “She feeds the babies to her children. A child of hers exchanged to one of ours.”  
Roshan closed her eyes. Without opening them, she asked in very calm voice:   
“Did you sacrifice your new daughter to Geldauran, Dirthamen?”  
His mouth was dry, and he could not answer. The silence stretched too long, and then he saw the glistening line of quiet tears running along her high cheekbones.   
“Like I said, your sacrifice is not meaningless.” Mythal said in softer, kinder voice. “With Falon’Din’s new discovery of lyrium and Dirthamen’s wings, we don’t have further need of Geldauran or her power.”  
“You are saying I’ll be a Nameless One. The very thing I fought against all my life.” Roshan said.   
She looked fragile like a glass. All fight had bled out from her with Dirthamen’s unvoiced confession, and she was beaten. Despite her accusations, the aching wound on his neck and his many, necessary regrets, Dirthamen couldn’t help but feel her hurt.  
“Roshan, I--.” he began, wanting to quiet the pain in his own heart.  
Roshan opened her eyes, water sparkling on gold.   
“Just don’t.”, she requested quietly.

Roshan turned around and started to walk towards south. Her bare feet left footprints on the snow, and she pulled the shredded crimson cloak of Elgar’nan’s servants around her. The lonely splash of colour was last thing Dirthamen saw of her before she vanished into growing darkness of the Void.   
“Vhenan.”, he whispered helplessly, feeling his heart twist painfully.   
“Just don’t, Dirthamen.” Mythal repeated gently.   
Supporting the weight with magic, she moved boxes on one arm and placed the palm of her hand between his shoulder blades, giving him a small push towards the portal.   
“Come.”, mother said. “There is nothing you can do to make it better. It’s over.”  
 _You always saunter away to someone else when there is trouble, leaving me to survive mess you make…  
_ A ridiculous, stupid idea came to his mind as Dirthamen watched the empty dark. The last glimpse of crimson was already gone, and his heart with it. It was reasonable to take the boxes and go back. Dirthamen knew how it would go, and prestige he would gain from his new wings. But he also knew with perfect clarity that no apology ever could make it right for her, or himself, if he left Roshan in the Void. Calculating the outcomes was his trade; he had ever been so very reasonable man. Maybe that was the reason why the call of pure foolishness was suddenly irresistible.

Making up his mind, he dropped the boxes and started to run. It felt wonderful; the snow was cold and wind was chilling, biting the tips of his ears, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had done something this stupid. The sheer, unexpected freedom of it made him grin like a madman.   
“Dirthamen!” Mythal shouted. “Come back, you _idiot_! The portal is closing!”  
His legs were longer, and he was running instead of walking. Dirthamen was gaining ground, and he could see her not far away.   
“Roshan!” he shouted. “Wait for me!”  
She stopped, looking utterly shocked. There were trails of newly shed tears on her face.   
“What do you think you are doing?”  
“You said that I always leave you alone when I shouldn’t.”, he announced as he reached her. “If I leave now, you will never forgive me, so I’m staying with you.”  
“In the Void?” Roshan asked, clearly not believing him.  
“Yes.” Dirthamen grinned.   
“You do remember that I told you we are over.” Roshan asked sharply.  
“Of course I do. I have excellent memory. I will simply have to win you over again.” Dirthamen said with a lovely smile.  He felt an echo of magic and looked over his shoulder.   
“The portal is gone, and my mother with it, so it looks like I’m stuck here with you. Excellent.”  
“Dirthamen, this is the Void. It’s not ‘excellent’. And I am still angry at you.” Roshan said with a tinge of desperation perilously bordering on panic.  
“I know you are. But you would not rob a man of his one chance for make amends. It is not in you nature to deny mercy.” Dirthamen answered.  
She was quiet, her eyes turning sad again. Dirthamen didn’t like it. It was best if she didn’t have time to think on how rotten it was to be stranded in the Void.  
“Besides, I find this situation very interesting.” he announced cheerfully.  “I have never been a part of someone’s harem before. I had one of my own, naturally, so I have a good idea of what is expected of me. The fact I’m dashing and handsome goes without saying, but I also speak draconic like most creatures inhabiting this place, and I’m willing to teach you if you wish. I’m a very good singer, and I can play several instruments if we find any. Also, I—“  
“Would it be very bad if I left you behind in the Void?” Roshan asked from nobody in particular and began to walk again. Dirthamen hurried after her.  



	13. The Age of Unpleasant Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody is comfortable with consequences of Dirthamen's decision.

The quiet steps behind her told that he had not left yet. Roshan wasn’t sure why, and she was too tired to care. Likely Dirthamen wanted to snoop around the Void for some reason of his own. When his conscience stopped nagging, he would slip off, get what secret or trophy he had come for and leave. The Void was not welcoming place. There was nothing but cold wind and frozen bones of dead dragons sticking out from the never ending snow.

Her back ached, and she was trembling from cold. The fabric of her shirt and cloak had been torn when the wings had sprouted out, and Roshan wasn’t entirely sure how she had managed to retain any of her clothes through shapeshifting. Magic? She didn’t know. As it was, Roshan’s back was a frozen mess of blood and torn fabric, but stupid copper trousers of Elgar’nan’s military uniform were still in one piece. Small mercies.

Too exhausted and frozen for another step, Roshan stopped, slightly swaying from one side to another. The song echoing in her head was getting fainter, so the direction she had chosen was good. Her teeth chattered as she cast a flaming barrier spell to warm herself and ward off the snowflakes. Dirthamen said nothing, but she saw her from the corner of her eye, standing few steps behind her.

The spell wasn’t strong enough. Her barrier lasted just a few breaths before it sputtered and died.   
“There is something very wrong here.” she said. Stars, she was tired. “The magic doesn’t work right. It’s...”  
“It seems like the very air of this place suffocated your spell. The connection to Fade feels dampened, almost cut.” Dirthamen said.   
He took a few fast strides, appearing on her side with calculating look on his face. He cast a barrier similar to hers. It didn’t last long before the magic just fizzled out. Dirthamen frowned, and Roshan noticed a flash of irritation when he cast again, with cutting edge and more force than she had ever been able to summon. A blessed warmth fell over her, seeping deep in her bones. She swallowed a sob as the needling sensation began from her fingertips, returning the feeling to her frozen limbs.   
“You can’t stay here forever to cast for me.”, Roshan breathed as she fought to stay on her feet, reminding herself more than him.   
“I’m Evanuris. I can do whatever I want.” Dirthamen announced.   
He stepped forwards and slipped his hands around her waist, lifting her up. For a moment, Roshan’s view blackened, and when she regained her senses, her head rested on Dirthamen’s shoulder as he walked steadily forwards. He had pulled the bearskin cloak around them both.   
“I feel sick.” she whispered, too tired to argue, or even open her eyes.   
“It’s the mana depletion.” Dirthamen said. “Taking the form of divine and holding it for extended period of time requires significant amount of power. First time I shifted into a dragon, I spent the rest of the day sleeping, and I wasn’t in the Void then.”  
He adjusted his grip around her:   
“Just sleep.” he said softly. “I have you.”  


 

“Do you know what I’m most angry about?” Roshan asked some time later.   
The sickening feeling was slowly subsiding, and she thought she might have slept for a short while, but their surroundings looked as hostile as ever.   
“The tributes, I imagine.” Dirthamen replied, keeping his gaze on the snowy landscape.  
“No. It was wrong, and you know it, but I can’t judge you for the sacrifices.” Roshan said quietly, burying her face against his neck. The wound had stopped bleeding, but it would scar, she thought.   
“My hands are equally bloody. Many people died to power Unfallen, and I killed some of them myself, like my father. And I made Falon’Din kill my baby.” Roshan whispered against Dirthamen’s skin. “But you should have told me what was going to happen to me. You knew, and you never said a word, just casted that cold spell whenever my back started to tingle. I didn’t understand what was happening when I turned into a dragon in middle of Arlathan. It could have gone differently. I might have been able to stop it, or control it, at least choose a less visible location. Your silence made me Nameless.”  
He kissed the top of her head.   
“My silence made you free.” Dirthamen replied. “I gave you a promise when I first told you that I love you. When you said that you had kept us a secret, because telling others would have ruined the one choice you made because you wanted.”   
Roshan didn’t know what to say. A snowstorm of thoughts filled her mind, whirling around one another like the snowflakes hitting the barrier of warmth and melting on it with small, sizzling sound. A hundred things she could have said. Accusations, words of anger, kisses of gratitude… None of them felt right.   
“A servitude my brother. The plans of my mother. The conditions placed by my father. Your own difficulties to find a place outside the world of slaves, to stop thinking like a slave. I promised to find a way to untangle you from all that, and I did.” Dirthamen continued calmly with each step he took. “You took wings, and flew away. You changed yourself, with no help from anyone else. You survived.”  
His fingers entwined lovingly in her hair, curling gently around the nape of her neck.   
“We are equals now, Roshan. Evanuris call Geldauran and her children the Nameless, because theirs are only the names we have to fear.”  
“There is no way you can have planned all this. You are simply manipulating me to see this, and you, in positive light.” Roshan informed him.  
Dirthamen chuckled.   
“How can you be sure?” he asked lightly. “I never claimed that I was an innocent man, or even a good one. Is it so hard to believe I might have masterminded a wonderful plan, outwitting mother and everyone else, and buying your freedom, too? It pleases me to think how my fellow brethren howl in their estates, lamenting how over the victory I won.”  
“If you are so clever, Dirthamen, tell me how being stranded in the Void could be considered a victory?” Roshan asked dryly. She had picked up bad habits from Senris.   
“What is the most effective way to end a war, my love? Traditionally, it has been considered the wisest course to seal an alliance with joining of families. Geldauran has acknowledged no other daughters than you; she has only two sons. Their society is matriarchal. You claimed me as yours in front of witnesses, my mother and yours.” Dirthamen remarked, savouring every word. There was a pleased glimmer in his purple eyes.   
Roshan’s eyes widened in shock, and Dirthamen laughed.   
“I married an enemy heiress, and now we are enjoying lovely honeymoon at her family estate.” he announced with flair. “What a coup! Nobles of Arlathan will be speaking about this for centuries!”  
Roshan groaned and hid her face against his shoulder.   
“Oh, fenedhis lasa.” she cursed in desperation.   
“You should be pleased.” Dirthamen advised. “I am the one who got mixed signals. It was very confusing when you first married me and then declared you wanted nothing to do with me, and how you wouldn’t have me even if my father offered me on golden plate, and how you wanted to throw the dowry money in sea and…”  
“Dirthamen. Shut up.”, Roshan commanded. “You are a terrible _troll_.”  
“Your terrible troll, gaidhalas.” he grinned. “You’re stuck with me for life, unless you want to restart the war and cause countless deaths of innocent people.”  
“So you say that I should forgive you for the sake of the People and world peace?”  
“Essentially, yes, because I have already forgiven you. I would prefer if you forgave me for personal reasons, but the good of the People and world peace are fine, too. I’m not very picky.” Dirthamen said cheerily.  
“Oh, stars give me strength.” Roshan muttered. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”  
“Some very good things, vhenan.” Dirthamen began, but stopped abruptly. His expression changed from mischievousness to something harder, and Roshan turned her head to look forwards.  
There was a dark, gaping hole in the snow, and stairs made from stone descended beneath the ground. A man with red skin and red eyes – he had no irises, Roshan noticed – was standing next to it, stark naked. Snow was sizzling and melting under his feet. His nails were long and curved, and there was odd, shimmery texture to his skin.   
“Welcome, new daughter of my mother.” the man greeted in heavily accented elvish. “I am Anaris, and I offer you my hold and hospitality.”  


\--

Senris stood in the middle of burning wreckage of the inn. Elgar’nan’s soldiers had finished collecting the patrons of the inn, people who lived in buildings nearby, and most of the spectators. But Senris was a realist; he knew that hiding a sudden appearance of a dragon in middle of Arlathan was a hopeless task. Blaming it on female Evanuris was as hopeless; their favoured shapes were well known among populace. Sylaise was bright yellow, while Andruil was red, and Mythal favoured green. As far as Senris knew, Ghilan’nain’s preferred form was bone white and her wings were too small to take flight yet. There was no way the glorious, golden beast could be explained away. His lord would not be pleased with rumours about Nameless attack in the middle of city.   
“We’ve rounded up everyone we can.”, Souren said. The youth looked uneasy.   
“Good. Keep them quiet.” Senris commanded. “I must inform my lord. Shathor of the Unfallen holds the command here until I return.”  
“But lord commander, he belongs to Falon’Din.” Captain Cisar started. “Surely one of us, instead of our sworn enemies—“  
“You lack the necessary experience of mopping up disasters, Captain. Obey your orders.” Senris said in a voice which accepted no disagreements.

He turned away from his soldiers and crossed the yard to corner where Shathor stood with Felassan and Inolan.   
“Are you ready to talk yet?” Senris asked sharply from Inolan. “My lord will require reason why this happened.”  
“I can’t speak of it.”, Inolan said. There were traces of tears of panic on her face, and her hands were shaking.   
“You should not make it harder than it must be.” Senris said.   
“We have taken a vow of silence in all matters regarding our lord.” the oculist, Felassan said. He tried to sound confident even though he couldn’t back it up. His fashionable gown was covered in soot and he looked bewildered, like boy returning from his first fight. Which he was, Senris reminded himself. It was sometimes hard to remember that not everyone was a warrior. Dirthamen’s ranks didn’t have many of those, and fighters he had were not generally worthy of Senris’ notice.   
“Stop pushing.” Shathor said slowly. “We’re in a mess. No use to dig the hole deeper. If you try to extract Dirthamen’s secrets from his servants by force, the trouble will spread among Evanuris, and the rumours about Nameless attack will gain wings. Nobody wants that.”  
Senris regarded Shathor, and decided the man was right.   
“That was longest statement I’ve ever heard from you.” Senris sniffed.  
Shathor grinned, but his expression was gloomy.   
“You’d better hurry. I sent Isenril to inform Vunora, who will relay the news to our lord. I will keep things here in order, but you know there is nothing I can do when the place starts buzzing with different Evanuris demanding information. It would be best if we had our backs covered by then.”  
“True.” Senris said grimly and left to see his lord.  


When Senris walked through the surface of eluvian leading to his lord’s station in the northern front, he was met by all too familiar noise coming from the upper lever of the tower.   
“SENRIS!” Elgar’nan roared. “Get me Senris, you boneless idiots!! Do I need to whack your heads off your shoulders to get answers from you? You all are useless!”  
One of Elgar’nan’s generals came running down the spiralling stairs and almost bumped into Senris. Her eyes widened in relief.   
“Finally! Did you bring news about the Nameless?” General Viola asked, but then the eluvian behind Senris rippled again and the guards standing by it stood in attention. Mythal entered through it, looking more distraught than Senris had ever seen her.   
“My husband. Now.” the All-Mother fixed her golden gaze on Senris.   
“As you wish.” Senris bent his head respectfully. Inwardly, he was cursing. There was no time for delays; he would have to inform Elgar’nan about mess in Arlathan in front of Mythal. Senris hated being seen as incompetent in front of anyone.

“Senris!” his lord was yelling again as Senris pushed open the door. Elgar’nan’s blue, piercing gaze fixed on Senris and he leaned forwards, resting his palms against the enchanted map on the table.   
“Here you are, finally. Explain me why the Nameless troops have suddenly retreated on all fronts. None of the idiots can tell what they are up to. ”, Elgar’nan demanded.  
Senris opened his mouth, and then closed it when he felt Mythal pushing him aside. The Evanuris paid him no attention, running to Elgar’nan.  There were tears running along her face, and Senris froze. He regained his senses in a moment and kicked the door shut, retreating as far from Mythal and Elgar’nan as he could.   
“Elgar’nan!” Mythal flung her arms around Elgar’nan’s neck. “You have to help me. Our son went mad.”  
A series of different emotions flickered on Elgar’nan’s face before he finally settled on grim and sad look.   
“Somehow, I always knew this day would come.” Elgar’nan muttered. He sighed, looking like whole world weighed on his shoulders. Then he raised his voice:   
“Senris, prepare my soldiers to attack Falon’Din’s temple.”  
“Not Falon’Din, you bloody fool! Dirthamen! It was Dirthamen!” Mythal interrupted.  
“WHAT?”  
Mythal shook her head, unable to answer. She wept against Elgar’nan’s chest, and Elgar’nan looked bewildered. He patted Mythal’s back helplessly, and Senris could tell his lord didn’t have a faintest idea how this could have had happened. Personally, Senris had an inkling.   
“Dirthamen? How?” Elgar’nan asked. “Did he get hexed? A mind control spell backfired?”  
“I wish it could have been something as easily fixed.” Mythal sniffed. “He ran off to Void.”  
“Void?” Elgar’nan’s face paled. “Why would Dirthamen go to Void? I always thought it would be Falon’Din with his habit of wandering to dangerous places…”  
“Stop repeating what I said!” Mythal pulled away from Elgar’nan. “My baby is in the Void! He ran off to Void, and the portal closed, and I demand you go and get him back!”  
“It was some plan of yours again.” Elgar’nan said with note of bitterness Senris had never heard before. “Another child lost in the Void.”  
“It wasn’t!” Mythal defended herself. “I would never sacrifice Dirthamen or Falon’Din to Geldauran. All I wanted was to get rid of Geldauran, once and for all, and break our chains. You have to go there and bring him back before something terrible happens. I can’t believe he did this. After everything I did to give him wings and raise him above others. He was always such a clever boy.”  
Mythal’s voice broke in heart-breaking sobs, and Senris cleared his throat. Best to deliver all bad news at once.   
“My lord. I must inform you that your personal prisoner took the form of the divine in middle of Arlathan. I have secured all witnesses I could find, but the rumours are spreading like wildfire as we speak. It happened very suddenly. One moment a servant of Dirthamen had pulled her aside to discuss something confidential, and next moment I saw a golden dragon breaking through the roof.”  
Senris had never seen Elgar’nan turn purple before.


	14. The execution of Nameless traitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mythal gives Solas a mission. Dirthamen and Roshan study the nature of dragons. Anaris hires help to fix his broken spa and carry his eggs.

“You look presentable.” Senris looked at Solas shrewdly.  
“I assure you, I can still wash myself even though the labour camps of your lord give little thought to hygiene of the prisoners.”, Solas replied pointedly.   
“Complaining about your sentence will not give you credit. It would be as ill-chosen action as your decision to pass Mythal’s sword to Lavellan.” Senris remarked.  
Senris’ voice was flat. Too flat.   
“Lavellan?” Solas blinked. “Does this summons have something to do with Lavellan?”  
Senris did not answer. He simply pushed the door open and nodded to Solas to enter.

Elgar’nan was standing by a table. His fancy embroidered coat was spread on the desk, and there was a damp stain on left shoulder. The moisture was gathering on the surface of fabric, coaxed by Elgar’nan’s magic. The spell cast a blue shadow on his face, and he paid no attention to Solas.   
“My lady.” Solas knelt in front of Mythal who stood by window. “You summoned me.”  
“I find myself in a need of a wolf. It is a task of utmost importance, and a secret. ”, Mythal said.   
Her voice was controlled and steady, but there was something different in her lurking beneath the surface. Solas felt uneasy. Elgar’nan’s presence was unsettling, too. Evanuris were not in habit of sharing secrets with each other despite the familial bonds.   
“Whatever you need, my lady.” he answered simply, bowing his head.   
“My son has been captured. I need you to bring him back home. No matter what the cost.” Mythal said.  
“Your son, my lady?” Solas’ eyes widened.  
“Yes. He has been lured into Void by a Nameless One. You knew her. Lavellan.”  
“Lavellan?” Solas felt very sick. “How could she--- She was Falon’Din’s trusted servant! Dirthamen’s lover! She even – My lady, how this—“  
“It is the same question I ask from myself, Solas. We all have been grievously deceived. But you understand why I give this task for you?” Mythal asked.  
“Of course.” Solas nodded quickly. If even one word of this got out, it would throw Elvhenan into chaos. A Nameless One, hiding under false identity right under their noses for years, cavorting with Mythal’s own children… It was unthinkable.  
Solas was still trying to collect his thoughts, when Elgar’nan moved.   
“It is ready.” he said, giving a small crystal vial to Mythal. The liquid inside was clear.   
“People think that blood is only substance with power, but mother’s tears are no less potent.” Mythal said, studying the small vial on her hand. “This will take care of Lavellan so you can help Dirthamen to escape. His judgement may be clouded. Trapping a Nameless One will not be easy or without a cost. I grant you unlimited authority to act on my behalf. Do what you must to bring my son home.”  
“Yes, my lady.” Solas said and bowed as he retreated from the chamber, leaving his grieving lady with her lord husband.

 

Solas had been given the last report of Lavellan’s actions, and he frowned as he read it. Solas couldn’t decide if he was more relieved of his own luck which had ended his crush before it truly bloomed, or whether he felt pity for Keeper of Secrets who had been so cruelly deceived. No wonder why Lavellan had been so vocally against bonds. Courtship with Solas would have made it more difficult for her to continue luring Dirthamen.  
It was clear that she was an enemy who should not be underestimated. But finding the way to Void was near impossible; Solas knew very well that several best scouts and hunters of Elvhenan’s army, and no small number of Evanuris had tried to solve the mystery for years. The answer to his problem, Solas thought, was glaringly obvious despite being overlooked for so far. The Nameless Ones knew how to get to the Void.  
He would need to use a different approach. A bait Lavellan would not ignore. Solas wrote the headline with bold hand, and then added two names below it. After brief consideration, he added his own, too.   
“PUBLIC EXECUTION OF NAMELESS TRAITORS.”  
He cast a simple spell to dry the ink, and hoped that he had not misjudged Lavellan. If this trick did not work out… But there was no fear in his heart when Solas offered the parchment to Mythal, and saw her appreciative smile. He was too proud to fear failure.

\--

 

Roshan ran her fingers along the lovely velvet robe and smiled. It was lovely and warm. And best of all, it was certainly not hers. Until now. And the compliment of two bottles smelling like alcohol was very thoughtful.   
“Excellent.”, Roshan smiled radiantly and stroked green drake’s head.  The wingless drake made a triumphant sound to his peers and showed them row of very sharp teeth.   
“If you see more furs, steal them and bring them to me. Also, weapons would not be amiss. Anaris surely has some.” Roshan advised her admirers. The seven drakes made cooing noises, especially the green one.   
She glanced at Dirthamen, who looked sullen. Roshan frowned and yanked his sleeve.   
“Translate.”, she urged as she put the robe on.   
Dirthamen spoke few words in strange, guttural language of dragons, and the drakes made angry, hissing sounds. Roshan saw the green one pushing out a forked tongue at him before they scattered off and vanished to different part of the cave complex making up the vast lair of Nameless Ones.   
“I’ve told you not to add things.” she said to Dirthamen, feeling irritated.   
“They are obnoxious creatures.” he replied.   
“Well, their admiration is only thing keeping us both alive in here.” Roshan reminded him as she fastened the ornate clasps of the robe. It was indeed very nice. Fine enough for an empress, she decided.   
“I think this might be Geldauran’s.”, she said happily as she ran her hands along the fabric. “The green drake is indeed a crafty one, and utterly disloyal to those in power.”  
“Ah, but there is difference between a rising power and a waning one.” Dirthamen remarked as he uncorked the bottle.   
“I’m not planning to take over the Nameless Ones.”, Roshan sniffed.   
“Maybe you should.” Dirthamen smiled faintly. He took a swig from a bottle. “Interesting. This tastes like the drink my mother served in special celebrations, except this has more bite.”  
But Roshan was not interested in art of wine-tasting. She pressed her ear carefully against the stone wall and closed her eyes, listening.   
“They are asleep.” she announced. “Geldauran’s song is quiet. We should go.”  
“Are you certain about this?” Dirthamen asked.   
“I’ve fought the Nameless, as have you. They can’t govern everything from a cavern filled with dead animals and a horde of dragonlings. They must have an actual base somewhere, and a way out from the Void.” Roshan said impatiently.  
“I agree, but our sojourns so far have been no use.” Dirthamen reminded her. “I’ve mapped the caves, and there is nothing here.”  
“When we sneaked in Anaris’ bath area – you remember the place with rivers of lava – the song was much louder. The song was what pulled me here, from all way to Arlathan. It has to be the key to their magic.” Roshan said stubbornly.  
Dirthamen nodded slowly. He had not heard anything, but Roshan’s strange ability had not failed them yet. She claimed that she could hear this ‘song’, and it reminded her of eerie, incomplete serenades the drakes performed. So far, she had predicted Anaris’ and Geldauran’s appearances without fail.   
“If they have hidden something under the lava, how will we get there?” he asked practically.   
“I change into a dragon and dive in Anaris’ lava river. If there is a bottom, I’ll hit it eventually. But if there is not…”  
“And what about me?” Dirthamen asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know my dragon form is not resistant to fire.”  
“You stand there in guard. If Anaris comes, distract him.”  
“That is a terrible plan which will get you killed. There is no such thing as a secret base without traps, and we have no idea of what’s inside. You dive in, and if there is something under the lava, you come back and tell me.”  
“It will take ages. We’ll get caught if I have to swim back and forth for every little thing.” Roshan disagreed.  
“There is the communication spell.” Dirthamen suggested sweetly. “And it would give me a believable lie. Anaris would surely believe we borrowed his fire bath to have sex. It’s what dragons do, apparently.”  
“I told you we were over.” Roshan reminded him.   
“Forever?” Dirthamen widened his eyes in fake hurt.  
“Two weeks are not enough for me to forgive you. But if Anaris caught us, it would be preferable to death.” she sniffed.   
“Such cruelty.” Dirthamen sighed dramatically. “You truly would be a fine queen for the Nameless.”  
“Stop it, Evanuris. We have a mission to accomplish.”

The part of cavern where Anaris lived was mostly empty. There were numerous dragonlings, smaller than Roshan’s squad of admirers, and few eggs glowing softly in the dark, but no sign of Anaris or his mother.   
“I wonder where Anaris’ dragon is. I don’t think he would suffer eggs if they weren’t his.” Dirthamen remarked as they entered the cave filled with pools of burning lava.   
“How do you know?” Roshan asked, trying to concentrate on the song. She took a long swig of her liquid dinner, feeling the pleasant burn in her stomach.   
“I wanted to smash them.” Dirthamen replied. “Murderous impulses with no reason are not something I do. Maybe it is the Void playing tricks on me, or an enemy spell. But I occasionally find myself thinking like a dragon, and I don’t like it.”  
Roshan was quiet. She knew he was right. There was something seriously wrong with the Void. It sapped her magic, and she still reeled thinking how she had attacked Dirthamen. There had been no reasonable thoughts in her mind, none. She had been nothing but a beast. Even worse than maddened blood mages Unfallen put down.   
“It happens to me, too.” she admitted reluctantly. “But it’s not occasional. It happens all the time, and it’s getting worse every day we have been here.”  
“How?”  
“It builds on feelings. Instincts. When I think something which triggers it, the feeling intensifies thousand fold, until it becomes unbearable. If I gave in, it would drown _me_ , just like in Arlathan.” Roshan said, sounding resigned. “I think you might need to start planning how to take me down before I seriously hurt you. My wards against blood magic won’t hold forever against something which comes from inside.”  
Dirthamen took a swig from his bottle, looking thoughtful.   
“So it’s me your dragon wants to kill?”  
“Not exactly.” Roshan said, sitting on the ground. She leaned against stone wall, and took a deep swig. “Stars, I’m getting drunk. This is the crappiest welcome I’ve ever had. I think we would have starved without love-sick drakes.”  
Dirthamen dropped next to her.   
“I agree.” he mused.   
“It almost feels like Geldauran and Anaris are avoiding us.” she announced, drinking more. “Why to go through all this trouble with melting my face off and luring me here, and then do nothing?”  
“You said earlier that your dragon doesn’t want to kill me. What it wants, then?” Dirthamen asked with interest.  
“You don’t want to know the answer for that question.” Roshan replied.  
“I can’t prepare for something I don’t know. What does the dragon want?”  
Roshan turned on her side and put the bottle down. She reached for the still red, but healing scar on Dirthamen’s neck. The gold in her eyes darkened.   
“It wants to fuck you, actually.” she informed him. “If you win. If you lose, it kills you.”  
“I think it is a geas.” Dirthamen said, keeping his voice very calm. Roshan’s pupils were dilating visibly, and the black was replacing the gold. “You know how those spells work. More you fight it, worse it becomes.”   
“That is very bad advice.” Roshan whispered. Her skin was taking a golden shimmer Dirthamen remembered, and the hand on his neck was sharper, heavier. She was changing.   
“Roshan...” he said.   
“You truly should run now, Evanuris.” Roshan warned. Her lips were parted, and he saw a row of needle-sharp teeth. But it was her expression what made him stay still. She was frightened.   
“Vhenan.”, Dirthamen whispered, sinking his fingers in her red hair. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you again.”    
The black had taken over her eyes almost entirely. Suddenly, Roshan bit down on soft flesh of her lip, making it bleed. She kissed him, and Dirthamen felt a rush of power strong enough to make him moan. It was like Geldauran’s tributes, but far more potent. He kissed her greedily, wanting more. His starving magic woke up, feeding on her blood, and he was lost in dreamy spiral of mana replenishment when she suddenly pushed him away hard.   
“Run.”, Roshan commanded.   
“No, vhenan.” he said gleefully, mind throbbing with power. “ _You_ run.”  
Dirthamen shifted his shape, adding a pair of great wings to his mental image. They appeared effortlessly as he changed his shape, and he laughed. All these years of useless attempts, and all he had lacked was a taste of grown dragon’s blood.   


 

“Come here, Anaris. I have a task for you.” Geldauran said .  
“What is it, mother?” Anaris asked as he appeared from the adjoining chamber.  
“The ceiling in bath area has been broken. You must ask durgen’len to fix it before the eggs freeze. The temperature is dropping fast.” Geldauran remarked.  
“What? Who did it?” Anaris’ nostrils started to smoke, and he hit his tail angrily against the floor. “Who dared to disturb my eggs?”  
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Geldauran dismissed his anger. “It was Mythal’s boy. He grew wings, and your sister chased him through the roof.”  
The drake made an annoyed puff.   
“You said that if he doesn’t get his wings within a week, I could feed them both to my mate.” Anaris said unhappily. “I have already picked seasonings. She was looking forward to it.”  
“It was back then, Anaris. Now you can’t.”, Geldauran said firmly. “You know the rules. She has passed all trials of the order.”  
“Can’t I at least have the Evanuris, then?” Anaris was sulking. “He isn’t a member of the order.”  
“Neither are you.” Geldauran said firmly. “Females only. And I doubt your sister wants to give him up. She hunted him, first, but now he’s the hunter, and she flees. It’s rather sweet to watch.”  
“I’ll just go and collect my eggs. No use fixing the roof before it’s over.” Anaris said sullenly and shifted into two-legged shape. Damned horny idiots. Why did they have to pick his spa?  
Geldauran just chuckled, sounding very pleased. Out of spite, Anaris grabbed an intelligence report which had just arrived from Elvhenan. It was a broadsheet full of typical propaganda, titled “PUBLIC EXECUTION OF NAMELESS TRAITORS”. It held no interest for Anaris, but maybe his sister would come into her senses and understand it was no use to keep a drake who couldn’t protect even his own thralls.

 

The blue glow under Roshan’s skin shone softly. It spread like a fan through her veins. Progress was easy to track through her pale skin. Dirthamen found it fascinating.   
“Does it hurt?” he asked. “Do you feel any different?”  
“Tired, vhenan.” Roshan replied. “I think the geas is gone.”  
Dirthamen smiled, kissing the inside of her wrist. The blue bloomed with his touch.   
“You didn’t shine when you were a dragon.” he noted.   
“Are you certain you would have noticed?” Roshan arched an eyebrow.   
“This was not first time I had sex in dragon’s form, gaidhalas, even though I haven’t flied before. We tried many things over years to get out from Geldauran’s treaty. Gaining wings or hatching dragonlings would have given us the necessary edge to win. The others never shone. Maybe it was the reason why it never worked, either.”  
“Your spell still holds?” Roshan asked quickly.  
“It holds.” Dirthamen promised.  
“Good.” Roshan said, visibly relaxing. Her voice was thick with impeding sleep as she asked:   
“How this did even start? This whole farce between your family and Geldauran?”  
“I’m not sure. It has always been so, as long as I remember. I think we were fifteen or sixteen when sacrifices began. Mother only told me the truth after I noticed that every household servant we bedded disappeared mysteriously.” Dirthamen said in dry voice.  
“Fenedhis lasa, Dirthamen. It’s horrible.”  
“It’s just life, Roshan.”  
“It is not. It’s wrong. Life should be better. You should be free.” Roshan argued.  
“I’m not a slave, vhenan.” Dirthamen chuckled fondly. “You are speaking gibberish. You always do when you are tired. Sleep.”  
“I will set you free.” she muttered against his chest, sounding stubborn. But her breathing evened out, and the slight twitching of her limbs told him that she was asleep.    


The blue glow had spread to her whole body, now, and it was slowly sinking inside her bones. Dirthamen was not tired at all. He felt almost unnaturally refreshed, more sharply awake than he recalled feeling since he left Elvhenan. It could have been the fact that his mana was still refreshed by power spike Roshan’s blood had provided, or maybe it was the fact Dirthamen held a mystery in his arms. Literally, he thought as he followed the faint blue shadow on her skin. What made Roshan different from Andruil or Sylaise? Or Ghilan’nain? They all could fly. The colour of their scales varied, but Dirthamen doubted it was a factor. Maybe it was the scar. Both mother and Geldauran had mentioned he would have wings as soon as Roshan had bitten him and then stormed off, but the wings had not appeared on their own like Roshan’s. Dirthamen had created them. The whole issue and especially the long-term consequences required closer study. For his sake, as well as hers, and for the People.  
He pressed a kiss on her neck, feeling her pulse tremble under his lips. Then his wards alerted him, and Dirthamen turned around just to see a wrinkled ball of paper hitting the shields. Anaris stood at the cave entrance. The man was naked and steaming, as always.   
“All that noise, and this is the result? I’ve seen better afterglow on fireflies.” Anaris looked down on his nose at Roshan. Dirthamen grabbed the nearest pelt from pile of furs they were laying on and pulled it to cover her. He didn’t like Nameless Ones ogling her while she slept.   
“What you are doing here?” he asked coldly from Anaris.   
“I have arrived to offer my own services, since my sister shouldn’t be burdened with grievous failure such as you.” Anaris announced with disdain. “How can you defend the nest or anything else, if you can’t even keep track on your own thralls?”

\--

Solas dearly hoped he had not miscalculated. If Lavellan did not appear, this was his last night among the living. The execution had been set in the morning. But maybe it was more of her style to interrupt the execution by swooping down from the sky. The Unfallen would not spend resources for something so wasteful. But the sky was getting too light for his comfort, and morning would come soon.   
“Would you consider Lavellan a flashy person?” Solas asked from other two elves imprisoned in the cell.  
Inolan didn’t answer. She slept on a narrow bench, looking frightened even in her sleep. But Felassan had still some fight in him. The man sat on the floor, as far from the wall as his chains allowed.   
“You, too? Haven’t we been interrogated enough already?” Felassan asked bitterly. There was not a single mark on him, but he had the haunted look in his eyes. Mythal’s questioners were skilled.   
“Besides, if you think I will say a word about something which has officially declared to be forgotten, you’re idiot. You have asked something about her every time you bother to talk to me.”, Felassan announced angrily.   
“We were courting. I’m simply trying to understand how the truth didn’t come out sooner.” Solas replied. “It is not a good feeling to be misled by someone I liked.”  
“If you are so deadly curious about Lavellan, I’ll tell you something. She said you are an eager puppy who wags his tail and just doesn’t give up.”, Felassan snapped.  
Solas was going to reply something scathing, but Inolan suddenly fell from the bench.   
“What the fuck—“, Felassan lunged towards her, but his chains didn’t allow him to reach her. From his position at opposite wall, Solas saw that the woman’s eyes were staring in emptiness and there was a small trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth.   
“Fenedhis lasa.” he whispered. “It’s no use, Felassan. Someone just killed her in the Fade.”  
“A Dreamer murder?” Felassan’s voice rose. The man sounded hysterical. “That’s it! I’m calling the guards! I’m calling my lord Dirthamen! This is unacceptable! Mythal’s people can’t imprison us and then just kill Inolan in her sleep. We have rights, we are owned protection, we—“  
A thin trail of mist slid between the bars and in the cell. The air rippled, and a curious figure manifested on their cell floor. It was tall and somewhat elf-like, but no elf had feet with second toe twice as long as the rest, while the fifth was barely more than a stump. Solas stared at the red skin and black claws with terrified fascination. It wore very peculiar clothes. A large hat and a beige trench coat tied with wide belt.   
“Nameless?” Felassan looked like he was going to piss in his pants any moment. “Oh, fuck, you are a Nameless!”  
“Anaris.” the creature replied proudly in strongly accented elvish. The voice sounded male.   
Solas blinked. He had not expected Lord of Pestilence to break them out personally. But this was indeed a proof, if any was needed, of Lavellan’s ties to Nameless Ones.   
Anaris grabbed the chain holding Felassan to wall and blew. Flames erupting from his mouth turned the chains white-hot. Ignoring the heat completely, Anaris put his hands on steaming metal and yanked. The links broke apart, and Felassan was free. The oculist wasted no time running through a portal, his chains dragging after him like a burning snake.  
Anaris turned to look at Inolan’s body at the floor, and then Solas.   
“What I’m supposed to do now?” he asked, sounding frustrated. “Your tattoos are wrong, but the other one is dead. Fucked-up prince and his stupid orders. Fuck him.”  
“Take me with you, Lord of Pestilence.”, Solas said quickly, kneeling in front of Anaris. “I swear you won’t regret it.”  
“Lord of Pestilence?” Anaris considered the title he had been offered. “It sounds great. If he doesn’t want you, I’ll keep you instead. It’s time I had thralls of my own.”  
He grabbed Solas’ chains, melted the link to wall and pulled him through the portal before Solas had time to reconsider.  


 


	15. The heart of Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen, Roshan and Anaris visit the heart of the Void. Anaris' wife is introduced, and Roshan claims a new drake. Falon'Din teaches his son a lesson about weak people.

“I understand Inolan and Felassan, but why Solas? Solas wasn’t there; he had nothing to do with my departure.” Roshan said, holding the parchment in her hands. She was still glowing blue, and Anaris was watching her hungrily. Her hair fell on her bare shoulders, and the pelt Dirthamen had tossed to her was not adequate covering.   
“Mother would not sacrifice him by mistake.” Dirthamen said. He was annoyed; he had been gone for less than a month, and already the others were trying to push their limits. They had no right to judge his servants without his agreement.   
Anaris sat down on the pile of furs. His forked tongue slipped out, tasting the air. Evidently it was to her liking, because he licked his lips before smiling at Roshan with mouth full of needle-sharp teeth.   
“If you wish, Razikale, I can collect these people for you.” Anaris offered.  
“What did you call me?” Roshan turned to look at Anaris, frowning.  
“Evanuris have this fancy habit of stealing names from people they banish. Their names are stricken from records, their deeds forgotten, their families and friends are told never to speak of them again. Forgotten Ones. Nameless Ones. The slurs to call us are many. I’ve become something of an expert of figuring out the closest translation in our language. It comforts people.” Anaris shrugged.  
The blue glow around Roshan deepened, and something fragile flashed in her expression.   
“Thank you.” she gave Anaris a small nod.  
Dirthamen didn’t buy this gesture of kindness. He knew exactly what Anaris was doing. It was oldest trick in the book. Unexpected acts of kindness to create closeness. He couldn’t believe Roshan bought the creature’s false sympathy. But on the other hand, Dirthamen remembered, she wasn’t exactly experienced in relationships. Falon’Din didn’t want Unfallen to have emotional entanglements of any kind, and Roshan had been so freaked out by Solas’ attempts to court her that she had begged to sleep on Falon’Din’s floor. Anaris’ strategy was far more likely to yield actual results than Solas’ flowery gestures of affection, Dirthamen judged. He knew it worked, because this was the approach _he_ had used all those years ago.   
Without a second thought, Dirthamen sat down too, positioning himself firmly between Anaris and Roshan.   
“Inolan and Felassan are my servants. I will deal with this matter.” he announced.   
“That is something I’d like to see, since you can’t get out from the Void.” Anaris smirked. “No fancy mirrors here, Evanuris boy. You need more than your new wings.”  
“You don’t even know where the holding cells are, or how to breach the wards there.” Dirthamen looked down his nose at Anaris.  
“I should go.” Roshan interrupted. “I have visited the prison in my lo—Falon’Din’s business before. I should get out from here and back again by following the song, or am I mistaken? Anaris?”  
The drake’s expression changed instantly, and all traces of lust disappeared.   
“You hear the song?”  
“Of course.” Roshan looked puzzled. “It’s how I got here at first place.”  
“By Mythal’s tits…” Anaris muttered, looking at Roshan with strange sort of reverence.   
“Besides, if anyone is suited for a rescue operation requiring breaking and entering heavy fortified building, it’s me. I have the skills and experience. ”, Roshan announced.  
 “Absolutely no.”, Anaris said, recovering from his bout. “You are the heir apparent, and you can’t leave the Void. There is no way I can allow it. Mother would kill me if the Evanuris got their hands on you. You have no idea how long I have waited--”  
Anaris noticed Dirthamen listening and snapped his mouth shut.   
“Do go on.” Dirthamen suggested with a faint smile.  
“I think not.” Anaris gave him a dark look. “If your mother has not seen fitting to indulge you the tale, I’m not going to be the one to educate you, _deevdru di siliit_.”   
A blush of furious red spread on Dirthamen’s face upon hearing the insult, and Roshan felt the soft, shadowy whisper of his magic rising. Anaris grinned, clearly eager to start a fight.  
“Stop it!” Roshan cried out before the tension broke into full-blown fight. “We can’t afford to spend any more time arguing about this. Either I go and save them, or you two will come up with alternative solution.”

Like most compromises, the plan they eventually agreed on pleased nobody.   
“Just open a portal out from here, and I will fix this. They are my servants.” Dirthamen reminded.  
“I can’t open a portal. I’m a man, if you haven’t noticed.” Anaris said and shook his hips.  
“When we get to civilized part of the world, I shall buy you a book about sex. Shaking your dangly bits in front of people doesn’t draw quality companionship.” Dirthamen said ironically.  
“I have nothing to hide.” Anaris said proudly. “What you see is what you get, and in my case, you get lots of it.”  
“Could we just go back to part where you said you can’t open a portal?” Roshan suggested.   
“The Veil parts only for the queen and the heir, and it requires considerable amount of power. All others trying to enter the heart of the Void shall perish, and I’m interested to see if you are truly the next queen of the nest.” Anaris informed her cheerfully. “You should see this too, Evanuris. In case you were waiting for an army of liberators to come save you and kill us all.”

 

Dirthamen was pleased to see they had indeed been right about secret passage under the lava baths.  Anaris simply walked into river of molten rock, and the liquid parted for him, revealing a strangely carved stone slab. There was a lift under it. Not like beautiful works in Arlathan, or crystal bridges. This was just a slap of stone hanging from old chains which creaked very worryingly as they began to descend down in the darkness.   
The opportunity to see the heart of the Void was excellent intelligence-wise. Dirthamen was not blind to possibilities it presented. But Anaris did not strike him as a fool despite creature’s obnoxious ways. He had, after all, commanded the Nameless army successfully for thousands of years against generals like Elgar’nan and Falon’Din. If Anaris was going to let him see something so important as the control room for entering the Void, he must be convinced that Dirthamen’s presence here was not a plot. Or he was planning to assassinate Dirthamen. Dirthamen judged that more likely option.   
Assassinations seemed to be the theme of the day. He would make it clean, for the sake of Inolan’s earlier service. But the whole mess had started because the cursed woman would not keep the secrets entrusted to her by Dirthamen. His temper began to flare as he tried to tally how differently events would have unfolded without Inolan’s loose tongue, and a glance at Roshan made it only worse.   
She was standing in her stolen robes on the stone slab, and her pale skin was taking a tell-tale golden tinge again. Dirthamen felt a stab of desperation which made him only angrier. He had not wanted this to happen. He couldn’t control this, or make it better for her, and it was Inolan’s fault. It was ironic, utterly frustrating problem for someone who prided himself for ability to control the events.   
It was not the lack of means to escape which kept him imprisoned in the Void. It was the fact that if he never returned from Elvhenan, she would stay behind, alone and surrounded by enemy forces.   
“We are almost there.” Roshan said, breaking the silence, and the lift hit the bottom in next breath.

Dirthamen thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. The darkness under the ground was filled with electric blue light. The veins of lyrium spread like branches of a tree through the stone, building a fabric of lace. And there was a sound. A strange, soothing song.  
Before them was old, chipped statue of dragon, or a woman placed on the edge of cliff. She had torso of a woman, but wings instead of arms, and no face. Her horned headdress reminded Dirthamen of something he had seen before, and it took a moment before memory came back to him. One of mother’s most favoured pieces of jewellery looked much like this. He stored the information for later study. If he ever got out from the Void, Dirthamen thought grimly, he would have much to question from Mythal.  
The shine of lyrium reflected on Roshan’s face as she began to walk forwards.  Her eyes were glazed and almost feverish, and Dirthamen was startled to realize she was not slowing down. He spurted forwards to catch her arm just when she was about to take her first step over the edge. But suddenly his legs were gone from under him, and Dirthamen fell on his butt with undignified crash.  
He pushed himself up, ready to kill the red beast who had tripped him, but Anaris wasn’t looking at him. The song had changed. It was no longer serene, more like _curious_ , Dirthamen thought. Roshan was standing on the edge. The veins of lyrium were pushing out from the ceiling and the walls, slithering towards her. A tendril of blue wrapped around her ankle, while another brushed her cheek. It looked like they were sentient. The song changed, sounding curious.  
 It was Anaris who baffled Dirthamen the most. The red creature extended his arm, and one of the lyrium veins reached to wrap around his hand. Anaris kissed it, and Dirthamen saw how the skin around his mouth began to blister.   
“My love.” Anaris greeted, and his deep voice was filled with longing.   
“I know the spell, now. We need to go.” Roshan said. She looked nauseous. “The song is drowning me.”  
Dirthamen saw the blisters rising on her skin everywhere the lyrium had touched her. More blue tendrils were squirming towards her through the rock, and some were rising from the bottomless chasm itself.   
“Let’s go.” he yelled to Anaris who was still smooching the lyrium, looking wistful.  
The song was so loud that Dirthamen’s ears were ringing, and Roshan was holding her hands on her ears in futile attempt to block it out. Dirthamen caught her arm, dodging the lyrium veins – they hissed at him! How could something with no body or mind hiss at him? – . He started to run towards the lift, pulling Roshan after him. When the song finally died down and Anaris closed the river of fire over the secret door, Dirthamen was relieved to have meters of molten stone between him and the heart of the Void.  


\--

Anaris had been smart to suggest that she opened the portal to Elvhenan in the small chamber she had claimed for herself. The spell had taken ridiculous amount of mana, wiping away the strange and exhilarating feeling of being all-powerful. If Geldauran felt like this all the time, Roshan thought, no wonder why she was so strange creature.  
When the portal closed after Dirthamen and Anaris, Roshan could barely walk the few steps to her bed before she promptly fell down. She was asleep as soon as her face touched the furs.

 

Roshan woke up to a touch on her hand. It was the green drake, licking the back of her hand. Pulling her hand away, she held the covers against her chest and looked around. She had no idea how long she had slept.   
“Is it the morning yet?” she asked from the drake. It made a hissy sound, almost spitting on the floor.   
“You need to go. I need to work a spell, and you might get hurt. Breakfast can wait.”  
The drake shook its head. It knelt by her makeshift bed, making cooing noises.   
“Are you blackmailing me?” Roshan asked incredulously.  
The drake didn’t answer. It just looked at her, eyes huge and pleading, and made kissy noises. They sounded ridiculous, coming from a large scaly creature.   
“You scoundrel.” Roshan sighed and pressed a kiss on creature’s snout. It was sensible idea to eat something before attempting to work Void magic again, and the green drake had certain aptitude for thievery.  
It beamed at her and vanished off, returning a moment later with new robes and fur boots. She felt uncomfortable dressing up while it stared, but the drake kept respectable distance between them, watching her like a faithful guard dog. When she had finished, the drake led Roshan through the narrow passages to large, open cave where Geldauran and her dragonlings resided.

 

Geldauran’s part of the caverns were much more populated than the quiet corner Roshan had claimed for herself. It was filled with eggs, dragonlings and dragons of different ages. Three of the adolescent females, who did not yet have their wings, poked their heads out from an adjoining chamber as Roshan passed them with the green drake. The dragons made low, threatening noises, glaring at her hostilely. Roshan tensed, preparing for fight, but kept walking. The green drake ignored the females, eagerly guiding her forwards, and it seemed to piss off the young dragons. When Roshan was just turning around a corner, one of them lunged forwards and nipped at her heel.  
Roshan felt the dragon closing in, and she whirled around, kicking it. Her foot hit the dragon between eyes, and it fell on its bottom, looking dazed. Roshan snarled, feeling the odd displaced emotion of shifting forms, but she pushed it away. The snarl, however, came out much lower and threatening than she had thought. It was a full-grown dragon growling. The sound echoed from the walls, and it sent the two adolescent henchmen running on all fours, their unfortunate leader skittering away best it could.   
“Good riddance.” Roshan spat, and then she heard something from the chamber the dragons had just vacated. It was weak, desolate sound of a baby crying.

The small chamber was littered with trash. There were two dead cows, and a skeleton which looked like it had belonged to a horse, once. But on the floor, in the corner, there was a bundle of marvellous, decorated cloth, stained with blood. It was barely moving.   
“Oh, fenedhis lasa.” Roshan whispered, kneeling on the floor. She felt sick as she lifted the small bundle in her arms and started to unwrap the flame-coloured fabric. Roshan felt her stomach lurch when she saw the damage. It looked like the poor thing had been forgotten in the corner and left to starve if it didn’t succumb to wounds, first. Without a second thought, she offered her arm to green drake.   
“Bite me.”, she commanded. The drake looked at her with astonished admiration, and quickly caught her arm between its jaws. Roshan hissed as the needle-sharp teeth broke her skin, but she was already pulling the blood from her wounds, bathing the dying infant in warm red glow of healing magic.

When it was finally done, the chamber was spinning in Roshan’s eyes and her knees were stiff. She was dizzy and too immersed in her work to react when a male voice spoke to her urgently:   
“We must leave, my lady. If Great Mother finds out you stole one of the tributes, she will challenge you to fight for it, and you cannot win against her yet.”  
Roshan blinked, looking at her right. A green-skinned young man with vaguely elf-like features was kneeling next to her with concerned look on his handsome face.   
“What are you?” she asked.   
“I thought you might like this form better, my lady.” the youth smiled eagerly. “You seem to prefer your other drake in two-legged form, and with your gracious gift of power, I could finally transform myself to appease you. I have studied the language, so I could converse and—“  
“You are the green drake?” Roshan pulled the infant closer to her chest.  
“Oh, yes, my lady. I am Daern’thal. Yours to command.” the young man beamed at her in very familiar way. “Are you planning to keep the tribute yourself?”  
Roshan looked at the baby, who was curling against her for heat and still shivering.   
“Yes.”, she said firmly. “Are there more of them still alive?”  
“I could help, if you promise you will keep me by your side and give me wings.” Daern’thal offered shrewdly. “I know a very nice place to where we could keep this one hidden from Great Mother and other dragons. I found it some years ago, and I’ve always thought it would make a fine nest. I could help you to build a lair and raise the tribute in secret. You can’t be there always, but nobody will notice if I’m missing.”  
Roshan looked at Daern’thal and then at the poor baby.  
She was fairly sure Dirthamen was going to hate the idea, but she could deal with him later. This was more important, and she needed someone who could help without being caught.  Roshan was certain that Geldauran was not going to let Dirthamen to sneak away from the Void to care for babies. Anaris had already warned that Geldauran would know when they returned, and there might be consequences. They had not asked for a permission to breach the Void or bring houseguests. And could she trust Dirthamen with this? He had brought these innocents here and exchanged them for power. The Evanuris had known what would happen to them, and still they had created these little ones just to throw them away. Just like Mythal had thrown her away after she had served her purpose. Roshan made up her mind, cupping the infant’s head protectively.   
“Yes.”, she said. “If you help me to save this one, I will give you wings.”

\--

 

Falon’Din walked across the floor of carved gold plates with swagger. He was balancing an infant on his hip, and for some reason June could not explain to himself, the baby actually added to Falon’Din’s evil overlord look. It didn’t look very old. Weeks? Months? Surely less than a season, June thought.   
“What is that? Your newest blood sacrifice?” Ghilan’nain asked.  
“Hardly.” Falon’Din took his seat. He crossed his legs, positioning the infant securely against his chest, and leaned back with a smirk. “I thought it would be educational to my son to see weak people.”  
“I doubt you are in right place, then.” Sylaise said chillingly.  
“Oh, you are mistaken. Who else but weak people would exchange their own children to few buckets of lizard blood? I’ve seen slaves to put up more fight when they were called to submit their descendants to sacrificial altar.” Falon’Din said. He stroked infant’s downy head with jewelled fingers and smiled at Sylaise.

The atmosphere changed instantly. June felt uneasy. He had given the tribute, naturally, but he thought he had gotten away from it easily. He had simply given orders, bedded a slave, and then his followers had taken care of whole thing from beginning to an end. It was more difficult for women, and Sylaise had always taken it much harder than Andruil. Dirthamen refused to have children with her anymore because he said Sylaise wailed too much about giving them up, and June couldn’t bear the thought of failing her like that. Not that she would have agreed. Sylaise had her sights set on higher. She wanted to advance among Evanuris, and for that, she would need a family connection to Mythal.   
“This is yours?” Sylaise asked sweetly, rising from her seat. She walked closer to Falon’Din and looked at the infant appraisingly. It had a tuft of black hair and wide grey eyes set on tiny, heart-shaped face.   
“I will remember this face.” she finally said. “When your borders fall before my fire, I will burn your temple to a ground and teach your son a true lesson about weak people. They become weak, because they give up power for false pride and belief, and stronger rulers take their place.”  
Falon’Din snarled, and Sylaise cried out in surprise as she was suddenly pulled off the ground. Her lovely features twisted as she cast a spell to release herself, but the flames merely sputtered and died off. Falon’Din’s magic felt different than June remembered. June had never liked the harsh, coppery taste of it but he didn’t remember it filling the room. Not like this. _This_ made little hairs on June’s neck to stand up. It felt electric, harsh, and sharp enough to cut into bone.

Andruil stood up slowly, her eyes narrowing.   
“Kneel and beg forgiveness, you wretched bitch.” Falon’Din demanded.   
“Never.”, Sylaise’s lips drew back with a grimace of pain.   
Falon’Din’s eyes began to glow eerie blue, and June watched in horror as Sylaise’s body bent. She dropped on the floor and her hands stretched forwards towards the posture of deepest supplication. June knew he should have done something, but he was starting to get frightened. Sylaise was strong. She was regal, and beautiful, and in June’s opinion, the most powerful of younger Evanuris. Now there were tears of anger in her eyes, and June felt sick in his stomach.   
But Andruil was not afraid. She had taken her bow, and she aimed at Falon’Din.   
“Get your filthy spell off my sister or I will put an arrow through your face.” Andruil warned.  
Falon’Din flicked his wrist sharply, and Andruil was thrown against the wall by invisible force. The mosaic on the wall shattered, the tiny pieces scattering everywhere. A trickle of blood was running from Andruil’s ear, and June thought she was unconscious. Ghilan’nain stared at Andruil, but did not move to help her.  
Falon’Din brought his hand down, still watching Sylaise. A furious sob escaped from Sylaise’s mouth as the unforgiving magic bent her down, pushing her forehead against the floor in front of Falon’Din. The baby stared at prostrating Hearthkeeper with wide, innocent eyes.   
“This is the lesson about weak people. In the end, they all will bow.” Falon’Din told to his infant in crisp, cool voice meant to carry all way to other end of the chamber. He stood up, taking the child, and walked over Andruil’s fallen bow. The wood was ironbark, June knew, because it was his handiwork. A fine weapon and as hard as stone. There was a faint smile on Falon’Din’s face as he stepped on it and the upper limb of the bow cracked under his weight. The sound made June fist his hands, but he said nothing when Falon’Din disappeared through the doorway.

Silence fell in the chamber. Sylaise was starting twitch, slowly regaining the use of her limbs, and tears of anger were running across her ivory skin. June tried not to look at her.   
“What was that? That lyrium you said you and Falon’Din worked on in summer gathering?” June asked from Ghilan’nain.   
The Mother of Halla looked almost enthusiastic in her cold, detached way, but then she pursed her lips.   
“If I told you, it could endanger my work. Your curiosity is not important enough to risk my access to something which is powerful enough to make Evanuris kneel.” Ghilan’nain said.   
She stood up from her seat and hurried after God of the Dead, leaving behind Andruil and her broken bow without a single glance. June closed his eyes and wished he would have been born a braver man.

 

 


	16. Bees and ravens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anaris wants chicken wings. Dirthamen buys ravens. Solas gets a worrying lecture on similarities between bees and dragons.

Either this mission was going to be much harder or much easier than Solas had originally thought. Locating Dirthamen had proven not to be much work at all. But understanding why Keeper of Secrets was shopping in lower-class Arlathan bazaar area with Lord of Pestilence was the tricky part.  
“Green or blue one, Felassan?” Dirthamen asked as he shuffled through a selection of ribbons hanging from clothespin in a small booth.  
“I don’t know, my lord.” Felassan replied in shaky voice. His arms were full of little packets.  
Dirthamen clicked his tongue.  
“You should. Why should I have followers who cannot offer advice when asked for it?”  
“I’m sorry, my lord, but this makes no sense. Why we are purchasing hair ribbons, dried flowers and trashy veilfire novels?”  
“Oh, I was thinking of staging a play.” Dirthamen replied and placed another book in Felassan’s arms.  
“Is that a dragon leering at her through a window?” Anaris asked with an interest, peeking at the cover. “Do all Elvhenan women wear lacy nightdresses which leave their left breast bared?”  
“Only in Arlathan.” Dirthamen said gravelly. He considered for a moment and then gave the book to Anaris. “You can have this.”  
Anaris held the book in his claws and peered at it with suspicion.  
“Are you certain?”  
“I promised to buy you a book, did I not? Besides, my father swears that these are a fountain of wisdom when it comes to women.” Dirthamen said sweetly.  
Anaris was still not wholly convinced, but the book was illustrated version, and he was soon immersed in  encounter between innocent Elaila, the mayor’s daughter, and terrible dragon which threated her village demanding virgin sacrifice.  
“Honoured one. We should leave.” Solas whispered, pulling Dirthamen’s sleeve.  
“No.”, Dirthamen replied simply and turned his attention to brightly painted silk scarves. Behind it was a bird booth, selling singing birds. There were several nightingales, and other lovely birds. They were fashionable courting gifts at the moment among well-to-do Arlathan citizens. Among gilded cages, there was simple wicker cage with two ravens inside. A piece of meat attached to a piece of string hanged outside the cage, and the birds were working their way through a puzzle to get it.  
“This is a fine puzzle.” Dirthamen said with admiration. “Look, Felassan. They have to pull up a string bit by bit, secure it, and pull again until they get the meat.”  
“We need to go, now.” Solas said again, this time with more force. “Honoured one, your mother—“  
“Stop bothering me, Solas, or I will call the guards.” Dirthamen said absently, watching the birds.  
Solas pursed his mouth. Of course. His lady’s son was indeed addled, or under some sort of a spell. He began to look around to see if he could find some guards.  
“That was very clever.” Dirthamen smiled as the ravens worked out a rotation. They took turns pulling the string while another kept it from falling back out. When they finally got their price through the bars, both birds attacked the prize ferociously, and Dirthamen clapped his hands in delight.  
“Oh, wonderful.” he applauded.  
“They are clever birds.” the shopkeeper said. “Not my usual stock, since I mostly sell pretty birds for courting gifts, but these two tricksters have a story which might interest you. They were caught from my uncle’s farm a week ago when their gang started to make trouble.”  
“They had a gang?” Dirthamen arched his eyebrows.  
“Yep. Ravens mate for life, but they are slow to court. Take two or three years of courting before they make up their minds and start laying eggs. Before that, they live in gangs and make havoc. These ones were luring wolves to kill lambs in my uncle’s farm so they could get carrions. I thought it only fitting they would end up to get eaten themselves. Do you fancy a bird dinner, sir?”  
“No, actually. I think I’ll keep them as pets.” Dirthamen said.  “You may send the bill to my estate.”  
The shopkeeper looked surprised, but he quickly got a binding rune from the pocket of his apron.  
“If you may, sir?” he offered it, reaching for the cage with his other hand.  
Dirthamen lit up the magic with snap of his fingers and took the cage. The shopkeeper was more knowledgeable than most keeping shops in the area, because he clearly recognized the sigil. He looked at Dirthamen with terrified awe.  
“If you catch more of their gang from your uncle’s farm, send them to Me.”, Dirthamen told him.  
“I’m hungry. I saw a place which advertises fried dragon wings, promising they’re crunchiest in whole Elvhenan.” Anaris announced. He had stuffed the book in pocket of his beige trench coat.  
“And you want to eat them? It’s likely they are chicken.” Dirthamen rolled his eyes.  
“I don’t care. I want to eat dragon wings.” Anaris whined.  
Keeper of Secrets sighed and started to walk towards the smell of fried grease.  
“If I get food poisoning, I will hold you responsible, Anaris.” he warned. Anaris gave him a needle-sharp grin under his large hat and followed the Evanuris.  
“Felassan. Slip away and warn someone. We can’t let a Nameless to stroll in the middle of Arlathan. Your lord is a victim of manipulative blood magic spell.” Solas hissed to poor confused oculist.  
Felassan opened his mouth, but he had no time to answer before Dirthamen’s hand gripped his shoulder.  
“Anaris says it’s time to go.” Keeper of Secrets said simply.  
“My dragon wings. Damnit.” Anaris muttered unhappily. “Come, thrall.”  
He caught Solas’ arm with his clawed hand and began to drag him towards the men’s lavatory.

 

\--

They didn’t find any other children alive.

Roshan slammed a shovel through icy ground, breaking through the layer of ground frost. She had sent Daern’thal away a moment before opening the portal for Anaris and Dirthamen. Roshan had learned early on that physical work was best option to deal with battle guilt. The questions. If she had only thought of looking for the children earlier. If she had demanded Geldauran to spare them. If she had given even a single thought to massacre happening around her instead of being caught up with her own sudden transformation and her own problems. She felt ashamed, and angry. Yes, it hurt to think Dirthamen had a baby with lady Solina. Roshan had never seen the woman, but she was starting to look like Spirit of Grace in Roshan’s imagination. Sweet, elegant and flawlessly beautiful. Fenedhis lasa, she hated to think he had made love to someone else. Of course she had known. Dirthamen had an awful reputation. But she had thought childishly that it would be different. That he would stop sleeping around once they were in love. If not because he liked her better, but for simple courtesy. Apparently Dirthamen didn’t like her enough for that.

Ugh. She was doing it again. Wailing about something as stupid as being hurt by a man while she was supposed to bury the child whose existence had sent her into mindless rage. She glanced at the row of four small, still forms wrapped in fabric. Roshan hit the shovel through the ice once more, sending the shards flying in all directions.

 

“Vhenan.”, Dirthamen’s low voice called her when the darkness began to thicken. There were no true sunsets or sunrises in the Void. Just perpetual dark which thickened from loosely woven fabric to inky blackness. He was crouching on the edge of the hole she was filling now.  
“Did your journey go well?” Roshan asked.  
“We released Felassan and Solas. They are here now.” Dirthamen said, watching her.  
“Not Inolan?” Roshan asked as she knelt down to smooth snow covering the little bodies. It felt wrong to throw ice and snow over them, even though she knew it was ridiculous to think anything could hurt them now.  
“No.”  
“I didn’t think you would let her live.” Roshan said, feeling the tightness in her throat. “Bad precedence. Falon’Din would not have allowed a follower to live after betraying his trust in such manner.”  
“Yes.” Dirthamen said.  
They were quiet. Roshan built a cairn of snow over the little ones, feeling frost bite her bare hands.  
“Do you hate me now?” he finally asked.  
“I know what you are.” Roshan replied, taking up the shovel again. “What I don’t know if I’m any better.”  
Dirthamen smiled, but his eyes remained serious.  
“We are two peas in a pod, then.”  
He reached down to her, offering his arm to help her up.  
“I should finish this. Father’s prerogative.” he said simply, and Roshan gave up the shovel.

She sat on the edge of the hole, watching him work.  
“Do you still think it was worth it?” she asked.  
Dirthamen paused. There was far-away look in his eyes as he pondered the question.  
“It is not often when a leader can say whether the price is worth it when he makes the decision. The gains, if there are any, are usually revealed later. In my case, it was simpler. My mother said it was necessary for the People, and I lacked the courage to disagree.”  
“Why?” Roshan frowned.  
“Because she is my mother.” Dirthamen replied simply, throwing more snow on the grave. “Power is different from the inside, gaidhalas. It is frightening to sit there, trying to make a right decision when all available options are bad. Haven’t you ever hoped someone else would come and take the choice from you? And if it is a person you trust, wouldn’t you be relieved?”  
Roshan thought of it.  
“I understand.” she sighed. “But still, Dirthamen…”  
“I never thought they were mine.” he said suddenly. “I am not as good as Falon’Din. He thought them as his, and he loathed to give them up. I didn’t let myself to get attached, so I would be able to do what was necessary. I’m not even sure which one was mine. I would have been abysmal father.”  
“Trying to stay sane does not make person abysmal. And I disagree about Falon’Din being good. My former lord is highly selective about being good person. Not that the Nameless are any better. Geldauran is as high-handed as Falon’Din, and even less honest about her intentions.” Roshan replied.  
The corners of Dirthamen’s mouth twitched as he smoothed the final layers with the shovel.  
“Your terribly rebellious trait hasn’t vanished, I see.”  
Roshan looked at him and made up her mind. She would trust him. Because if she did not, she could never stop guessing, and there would be no healing the hollowness of her heart.  
“There are only four in the grave.” Roshan finally said. “I stole the fifth. I think she is Sylaise’s.”  
Dirthamen’s mouth twitched harder, and he shook his head, hiding his smile behind his hand.  
“Today is good day to die?” Roshan suggested hopefully. “Geldauran hasn’t found out yet. And I have no idea where the baby was taken, so I can’t tell even if I was tortured for information.”  
Dirthamen looked at her, and his purple eyes glimmered with mirth mixed with worry.  
“I’m glad you never were my servant, because you would make a terrible subordinate. Two weeks in the Void, and already you are high-handed enough to cross Queen of the Nameless. Have you any idea what she will do to you when she finds out?”  
“No, but it was worth It.”, Roshan said, standing on her ground.  
Dirthamen sighed again, dropping the shovel down. He walked to Roshan and combed hair off her face, tracing the unmarked skin with his fingers.  
“As soon as we have solved how Geldauran holds power over you, we’ll leave. Before you get killed.”  
“Where would we go?” she asked, watching him.  
“To mountains, perhaps? I can rule my realm via exchange of letters.”  
“I would like that.” Roshan admitted with a shy smile.  
“I thought you might.” Dirthamen smiled back at her.  
She looked at him, and felt something starting to heal in her heart. It was not that he was perfect, because he was not. But it felt like his words had been honest.  
“I claimed a drake. To care for the child.” Roshan admitted.  
Dirthamen groaned.  
“Not the green one, please.”  
“His name is Daern’thal. He is exceedingly polite.”  
“I will try not to bite his head off, but I’m not making any promises.” Dirthamen said, slipping her hand in his. “Come inside. We can’t leave Felassan alone with Anaris for too long. He’ll be traumatized.”

\--

 

Eggs.

Solas thought he had been in the Void for three days at least, and he had made no progress in his mission so far. He had no time to speak with Dirthamen or to slip the contents of vial into Roshan’s drink. All his waking hours were taken by tending Anaris’ dragon eggs. He cleaned the eggs with warm, wet rag. He turned them from one side to another twice a day, and dipped them in molten lava once a week. There were hundred and fifty-seven of blasted things.

On fourth day, he saw a woman standing at the doorway when he was working with eggs.  
“It is unusual to see one marked with Mythal’s vallaslin here. Her people are rarely dissident enough to run away.” she remarked, watching him. “Why haven’t I seen you before?”  
“I only arrived three days ago, your grace.” Solas replied quickly. “I work for Anaris.”  
“Interesting.” the woman said thoughtfully. “I wonder how much my former sister taught you about dragons. She thinks us as species. We see ourselves as an order. There are merits to both theories.”  
“Your sister, your grace?” Solas asked.  
“The winter will not last forever, and the spring will be upon us soon. Mythal always thought that dragons are much like bees. We have our workers, such as you. Drones. Queens. Even a swarming season of sorts. And this year we have a virgin queen and an old queen. It will certainly be interesting. If I were you, I would keep an eye on the eggs. Virgin queens tend to kill their rivals.”  
The woman smiled enigmatically and vanished like she had never been there at all.


	17. Sylaise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylaise has a visitor. Solas progresses with his mission.

When Sylaise finally got home, all she wanted to do was to lock her door and cry. Shame was like an itch under her skin, making her angry and embarrassed. She wanted to scratch her skin bloody to get it out. But she was a queen, almost a goddess; she could not show such weakness in front of her followers. It was bad enough that other Evanuris had seen. Sylaise knew that she should channel her shame and resentment into flaming anger and stoke the fire until Falon’Din and his confident smirk burned into ashes. But somehow, she could not summon the will to do it. Her heart was filled with bitter ache and misery which filled her mind like a wet blanket, extinguishing what fighting spirit she might have had.

She knew why. In her heart, Sylaise thought that Falon’Din had been right. She was a weak person. If insufferable, arrogant prick like Falon’Din had stood up against the Nameless Ones and refused to give up his baby, how Sylaise could have failed so? Sylaise loved her tiny daughter, yet failed her most grievously.

The formal dinner was torture, and holding court dragged on far too long. Sylaise was exhausted and on the brink of tears when she dismissed her attendants and locked the door behind her. Unable to keep her queenly mask on a moment longer, she walked to chest of drawers and unlocked the wards with magic. It was stupid, Sylaise knew, and would make her feel just worse afterwards, but she had to.

A tiny lacy hat was on the top, still unwrapped unlike other soft little clothes in Sylaise’s secret drawer. She sat on the carpet, not bothering with chair, and breathed deep as she pressed the hat against her face. Her baby had worn it for six weeks before Dirthamen came for her. The fabric smelled like milk and warmth, still, and the scent made Sylaise’s tears run freely. She moaned as pain gripped her heart, sorrow mixed with shame and overwhelming feel of failure. She did not want dragon’s blood. She wanted her baby. But it was too late to choose differently.  
  


Sylaise did not know how long she had cried. Her head throbbed violently, and her nose ran. Then she heard a sound of window closing and looked up.   
A woman stood there, holding a baby. Her other hand was still touching the window frame, and her eyes were soft as she looked at Sylaise.   
“I have your child here.” the woman said gently as she placed the baby on Sylaise’s bed. She spoke with an accent of someone coming from Falon’Din’s realm. “I need a drop of your blood to heal her. She is not well. I think it is the Void affecting her. I healed her wounds, but some of them are going to scar. Her hair has fallen off and she vomits a lot. There is some blood in it.”  
Sylaise stood up at shaking feet, her eyes on the little form. Her heart felt like it was going to burst. Sylaise thought of shouting the guards, or at least putting up wards. The proposition was foolishly dangerous. Offering her blood to unknown trespasser blood mage could kill her, and she needed to deal with it now.   
But Sylaise didn’t. She hurried to her uninvited guests and offered her hand to a woman, who had drawn a knife from her sleeve. The baby was staring at her with serious eyes, making small noises, and Sylaise smiled back at her child as she felt a cold touch of the knife. This time her courage would not fail.  
  


The last spell fizzled into infant’s skin, and Sylaise dropped on bed, feeling spent. They had stayed up whole night and well into day, purging the ill effects of malnourishment, fever and strange illness from child’s body. Even though Sylaise was the best healer among Evanuris, she had never seen anything like it. It had felt like something blocked the baby’s inherited magic, cutting the connection between her and Fade until she starved and wasted away.   
“What caused this?” Sylaise asked tiredly from her guest, who had slumped on the carpet.  
“The Void, I think. My drake says that people brought into Void rarely survive longer than a season. First comes fever and vomiting, nose bleeds, then their hair falls off and exhaustion sets in. When the baby began to vomit blood, I decided she could not stay.” the woman said in thick, exhausted voice.   
“I needed to see if you deserved to have her back.” she added, looking at Sylaise who was opening her bodice to feed the baby. “If I had not seen you cry, I would have taken her to someone else. Or if you haven’t given what I needed, freely. You did put me in jail when we last met.”  
Sylaise frowned thoughtfully. The baby latched on greedily and began to nurse.   
“When? I thought I had seen you before. But I’m certain I would recall imprisoning a Nameless.”  
The woman chuckled dryly.   
“My Namelessness is very recent change. Mythal did the honours when Geldauran wanted Falon’Din. I got traded instead.”  
Mythal. Sylaise thought hard about her recent encounters with Mythal and then she remembered.   
“Dirthamen. It was Ghilan’nain’s hunt, and you were shagging Dirthamen.”  
“Is there anyone who hasn’t shagged Dirthamen?” the woman asked sardonically.   
“Touché.”, Sylaise admitted. “I employ four people just to keep track of them all.”  
“Why you bother?” the woman asked. “He is annoying and too smart for his own good. He cooks up outrageous plots and sleeps with everything that moves.”  
“Why do you bother?” Sylaise asked.  
The woman shrugged.   
“Honestly, I don’t know. But I do.”  
Her expression brightened, and she grinned. Her features were more attractive when she grinned, Sylaise thought.   
“But then, I bother with many things I’m not supposed to care about. Like stealing a baby from my so-called mother and delivering her back to opposite faction. Geldauran is going to throw a fit when I go back.”  
“There you have it.”, Sylaise said. “I have made up my mind. I’m not going to imprison you. Instead, I’ll I make you Halevuna’s godmother. I think we are going to be friends.”  
The woman stared at her.   
“You can’t be serious.”  
“I am. You saved my daughter when I could not. You brought her back from the Void. I’m forever in your debt for that, no matter what you are. And I would rest easier knowing that if I failed her ever again, Halevuna would have someone else to rely on.”  
The woman’s expression made Sylaise laugh. It was easy to laugh, now. Her baby was safe and sound in her arms, and she felt content. Happy. More relieved than she could put in words. But because she was Sylaise, she added:   
“Next time you come here, I’ll bake cookies and we can bitch about Dirthamen together. It will be wonderful.”  
“I’m not entirely sure if you are right.” the woman said in weak voice.   
“Nonsense. It will be fun.” Sylaise stated firmly.   
“I think I’m going to go back to Void.” the woman said, standing up on shaking legs.   
“Where should I send your invite for Halevuna’s birthday party when she turns one? Addressed to who?” Sylaise inquired.  
“I don’t have a name. Or mail address. Elvhenan messengers don’t deliver to Void.”  
“That is simply a matter of proper arrangement. Don’t try to dodge the question, dear.” Sylaise said as she lifted her baby against her shoulder, patting Halevuna on the back.  
The woman sighed.   
“The dragons call me Razikale.” she said, and vanished in the shadows.   


\--

Solas couldn’t sleep. He had not managed a good sleep after he was brought into the Void. There was no Fade here. Solas didn’t know how it was possible, but it felt like there was something between the Fade and the waking world, a see-through barrier which kept them separated from each other. Whenever he tried to breach it, it just stretched and then snapped right back when he gave up.  Solas hated it. He could still sense the Fade, but all sensations were dulled. If there were colours, he could see only grey. Sounds were coming far away and notes melting to each other. Even the spirits – it was like he was drowning, and seeing the world through ice. He tried to scream for help, but icy water filled his lungs and he could not break through to people above. Anaris was sleeping soundly, and listening his even breaths made Solas only more annoyed. Finally he got up, bristling in bitter cold, and decided that some fresh air would not be amiss. Maybe walking would made him tired enough to finally drift off.

He walked a circle around Anaris’ part of the caverns and then decided to head towards the east. His mission had not progressed at all, and Solas knew Mythal expected results. Poisoning Lavellan and saving Dirthamen was not easy to accomplish, when he had not seen either of them since his arrival. Lavellan, Dirthamen and Felassan seemed to spend all their time in eastern part of the cave, dubbed as “Razikale’s lair” by Anaris. Even though it was simply on other side of the vast cavern system, it could have been in the moon. Dragons did not make house calls, and Anaris had been way too occupied tasking his egg care slave to let Solas slip out of sight.   
Solas doubted he would finish his mission tonight, but it would prove useful to learn the layout of the cave. If someone challenged his entry, he could always blame insomnia or ask to see Felassan because he wasn’t feeling well. It was true. The diet of meat did not agree with him; his nose had begun to bleed frequently and it made Solas nervous. He knew Lavellan was very talented blood mage, and he didn’t want to give her any ideas. Hopefully, she would be asleep.

He had no such luck. There was a green drake sleeping on the ground at the entrance of Razikale’s lair, and Solas was just calculating whether to try to pass when he felt a sudden disturbance. A swirling portal opened in the air. For a single breath, Fade flooded back to him, and Solas tried to grasp it only to have the connection cut off in next when Lavellan stepped through.   
The green drake woke up as the portal died down. It shifted shape, taking an elf-like form of very sleepy, green-skinned young man scrambling up.   
“My lady! I’ve been so worried – did everything go all right? Was there any resistance? You should have taken me with you.”  
“Hush, Daern’thal. Everything is fine. I breached Sylaise’s estate without difficulties. Her security is not up to Falon’Din’s standards.”  
“You were gone for so long.”, Daern’thal said in small voice. “I was afraid. Will I have wings now that I’m no use for you? I tried to take good care of her, but she wouldn’t eat.”  
“Don’t you worry.” Lavellan said gently, cupping Daern’thal’s face in her hands. “You did fine. You need to grow up a bit. See the world. Meet people. Then I will give you wings if you still want them.”  
“I will always want you.” Daern’thal swore with innocence which made Solas flinch.  
“Oh, my sweet one.” Lavellan shook her head gently, pulling Daern’thal closer.   
She pressed a light kiss on his lips, and Solas saw a flash of blue when their mouths joined together. After a brief kiss, Lavellan withdrew.   
“Go to sleep now, Daern’thal. I will come soon.” she said.  
Daern’thal looked like a love-struck fool as he nodded and headed deeper into eastern cave. Lavellan stayed where she was, and after a moment, she turned to look straight at Solas.   
“Have you seen enough, Solas, or were you planning to spy at my doorway all night long?” she asked dryly.   
“I couldn’t help but to pity the poor boy. You are getting better at playing the game of breaking hearts.” Solas remarked harshly. “How many you have under your spell, now? Two or three? Have you enchanted Felassan with your womanly wiles yet?”  
Lavellan’s jaw set in firm line.   
“All right. I need you to get over this bullshit now. I’m tired and cranky and low of mana, and I want to go to sleep. I don’t care about your precious Mythal, or why Anaris had to bring an obvious spy here, and I’m fed up with your baseless accusations. Who do you think I am? Some kind of desire demon? What the fuck is your problem, Solas?”  
“You kidnapped Dirthamen to spread unrest in Elvhenan. You played us all for years.” Solas glared at her.  
“Kidnapped Dirthamen?” Lavellan’s voice rose. “He ran after me and wouldn’t leave even though I offered! And if anyone played someone, it was Mythal. Your precious lady stripped me of my name and told me that this is my sacrifice for good of the Elvhenan. She made a secret agreement with Geldauran years ago, trading her own grandchildren for dragon’s blood to get power.”  
“You lie.”  
“You are a blind idiot, Solas! You have always been. I swear you have a crush on Mythal! There is no other reason why you would be so blind to her faults!”  
A chilling anger filled Solas’ heart, making his fists tremble.   
“Step outside.” he heard himself say.   
“What?” Lavellan looked shocked.  
“Step outside. I will not listen you slander Mythal a moment longer. I challenge you to a duel.”  
“Turn back now and go to sleep. I can pretend I didn’t hear you.” Lavellan said slowly. “No matter how many lessons you took from Shathor, you are no match for me.”  
“No. This matter will be settled now. With blood.” Solas lifted his jaw. The little crystal vial magically sealed inside the palm of his hand felt heavy. When annoyance flashed in Lavellan’s eyes and she nodded, Solas knew he had her. All he needed was one hit.

They were still staring at each other, when Lavellan suddenly focused at something behind Solas and dropped the fighting stance immediately.   
“Daughter. Go to sleep.” a warm female voice commanded.   
“You are not my mother, Geldauran.” Lavellan replied.  
“Go to sleep, and I will forget that you fought with your sisters, stole a tribute, hid it for four days and then smuggled it to Elvhenan.”, Geldauran said. Solas looked behind his shoulder and saw the same woman who had spoken to him few days ago.   
“Why you aren’t a dragon?” Lavellan asked.  
“Why aren’t you a dragon?” Geldauran repeated the question, arching her eyebrows. “Go to sleep and have a nice snuggle to regain strength. Your body won’t keep up producing lyrium if you run yourself ragged, and you will need it soon.”  
She placed a firm hand on Solas’ shoulder, continuing to address Lavellan:   
“When you have rested enough, I will teach you about proper opening of portals. Your handling of the Void would wake up the dead, and I prefer to have my beauty sleep. Also, your Evanuris was extremely upset when you disappeared like that. He was grilling poor Daern’thal about your whereabouts. You must learn to care for your drakes better, daughter. Upset males are pain in the ass, and they take days to calm down.”  
“But Solas--”, Lavellan tried to resist.  
Geldauran gave her a stern glare and opened her mouth to trill a few notes. Solas heard only half of them, an eerie melody which made no sense, but it had clear effect on Lavellan.   
“Shit.”, Lavellan hissed, glaring at Geldauran as she turned away from Solas and marched through the eastern entrance.  
“Good night, dear.” Geldauran bid ironically.   
They watched Lavellan leave, and Solas made a motion to go back towards west. The hand on his shoulder would not budge.   
“Before you try to murder my daughter under my sister’s orders, you should understand the consequences of your actions.” Geldauran said pleasantly. “She is new to us, and not yet ready. Our order has a duty for the world, and you should understand it before you make any choices.”  
Solas felt a cold fear running along his spine, but his curiosity was even stronger.   
“Your sister? You said that Mythal is your sister. She has never spoken of such thing.”  
Geldauran smiled. Her lips were red and lovely.   
“Let me propose a trade, Mythal’s wolf. Spring is upon us soon, and I would not sleep alone before I fly for one last time. You will join me in my chambers, and each morning I will answer one question you ask. Any question of any topic, with truthful answer.”  
Mythal had told him to use any means necessary. And Geldauran’s offer of knowledge was too alluring to say no. Not to mention it would annoy Lavellan. Solas smiled dashingly and kissed Geldauran’s hand like a courtier.

 

 

 

 


	18. The Order of Nameless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas gets answers from Geldauran.  
> Roshan learns disturbing things about Nameless Ones.  
> Dirthamen negotiates a peace treaty, but forgets to ask essential question.

Elgar’nan dreamed.

When Elgar’nan had embarked in a mission to save his son from the Void, this was not what he had expected. In hindsight, Elgar'nan thought, this was exactly what he should have expected.  
“Father.”, Dirthamen greeted him. He was comfortably reclining on his side, eating from a plate of peeled grapes. He was wearing a loincloth of black silk and nothing else. He seemed unharmed except for an old, healed scar on his neck.  
“Son.”, Elgar’nan said, fighting the urge to strode across the room and spank the ungrateful boy who had made his mother cry. But this was not the time.  
“Get up. We are going home.”, he ordered. Senris, who always anticipated his thoughts, pulled a pair of breeches from backpack and passed them to Elgar’nan. He threw them to his son, who didn’t even try to catch. Dirthamen looked down on his nose at the garment like it mortally offended him.  
“I’m not going anywhere. But since you came here, we need to talk.”, he informed his father and sat up. Dirthamen strolled across the room, the black silk swishing against his legs, and created two chairs with a flicker of his wrist.  
“How did you manage to reach this far?”, Elgar’nan asked carefully. The inability to work magic in the Void had always been a major advantage to Geldauran and her thralls.  
“I have enough power to break through the Void this one time. A courtesy of my future wife.”, Dirthamen replied and sat down.  
“Your wife?”, Elgar’nan raised his voice.  
Dirthamen’s expression was cool.  
“I recall telling you that I was courting someone, father. Dragons mate for life.”  
“Dragons keep harems.”, Elgar’nan pointed out.  
Dirthamen sniffed, crossing his legs leisurely.  
“So far, that has not been an issue. The truth is, father, Geldauran has only one adult daughter in matriarchal society, and I’m attempting to do the sensible thing. For years, we have poured resources and lives into useless war, which has no meaning. We cannot win, and I’m not entirely sure why we are even fighting. Our enemy doesn’t care we are at war. Anaris refers our troops attacking as a _buffet_ for feeding dragons. The elves on their side are not led by Anaris like we believed. He claims they are political dissidents originally from Elvhenan, who act on their own volition and under their own leadership. ”  
Elgar’nan gestured to his soldiers to wait and moved to take the second chair.  
“You can’t believe the forces attacking us are not tied to Nameless Ones in any way.”, Elgar’nan said.  
“I’m not a naïve child, father, but there are limits I must work with. Geldauran doesn’t trust me. Roshan’s trust in me is damaged too, and it will take time to repair. Finding out the truth about Nameless military structure is not within my means right now.”, Dirthamen replied.  
He considered his outfit with an ironic smile on his face.  
“This is what you chose to dress me in, father? An interesting choice.”  
“What is this ‘sensible thing’ you claim you are trying to do?”, Elgar’nan would not allow the boy to distract him.  
“A peace treaty.”, Dirthamen stated. “I want this war to end. The dragons have a queen and heir apparent, who is my Roshan, thanks to Geldauran and mother’s meddling. I’m brokering a peace treaty to end the hostilities, and I need you to agree to conditions. As soon as the treaty is signed, I shall bond Roshan as a sign of peace between our families.”  
Elgar’nan wanted to slap him.  
“It is just like you to hatch some kind of elaborate spying scheme. You could have warned your mother at least, and save us the trouble of sending people after you. She was crying.”, he said pointedly.  
The ungrateful boy shrugged.  
“It would have made it less believable, father. And it is very important that this stays realistic. My mother-in-law keeps reminiscing how she ate unfaithful or unsatisfactory drakes, and Anaris harps about nutritional advantages of eating me. Luckily Roshan finds the idea unbecoming even if she hasn’t forgiven me yet. None of you, with exception of mother, is good enough at acting for me to risk my safety.”  
Elgar’nan found the thought of his son marrying a dragon very disturbing, but the boy was making sense.  
“What makes you think the Nameless would give their heir to you?”  
“As far as dragons are concerned, formalities are already done.”, Dirthamen said, lightly tapping the scar on his neck. “Dragons mate for life. And I would prefer to be the Emperor of the Void instead of a harem boy, despite your penchant to dress me like one.”  
Elgar’nan considered it.  
“The Emperor of Nameless.”, he said slowly. “I like how it sounds. Properly terrifying.”  
“Unless you want mother to cry for real, I suggest you withdraw your troops from the border immediately and give them orders not to attack. Geldauran doesn’t trust me, and if I can’t deliver what I promise, it won’t end well.“  
“Your mother was truly upset. It was not a lie. She believes the Nameless are manipulating you.”, Elgar’nan said with sharpness.  
Dirthamen arched an eyebrow.  
“Naturally. It’s unsettling to admit she isn’t as just as she wants to believe. Mother abandoned an innocent, loyal woman into Void. It was cruel thing to witness, and nobody wants to think themselves as petty, or unfair. “  
Elgar’nan frowned slightly, watching Dirthamen.  
“Yes, I know what you think.”, Dirthamen swept his fingers in sharp gesture. “It’s easier to say I’m addled and not in control than open your minds to possibility that _I_ might have found a way to end this useless war. You and Falon’Din and Andruil have tried to win for centuries. It is clearly not going to happen. Mother’s deal with Geldauran hasn’t helped us to win, either. If we do it my way, you will have peace and living grandchildren instead of dead babies.”  
“You are a manipulative brat.”, Elgar’nan huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.  
Dirthamen chuckled.  
“Did you mean it as an insult or compliment, father? Remember. The troops, within one week. You will either have a son who becomes an Emperor or a son whose head is sent home to you in a basket, and I don’t want to die.”  
“I will withdraw the troops on one condition. You will come home, and then I will listen what you propse. If there are to be negotiations with Nameless Ones, I will not give them a hostage.”, Elgar'nan said.  
No matter how hard Dirthamen tried, Elgar'nan would not be budged from that.

 

\--

Dirthamen was still deep asleep when Roshan woke up. She was worried; he had been very tired of late and slept more than usually.  
“Do you think he is getting sick like Sylaise's baby?”, Roshan asked from Daern'thal.  
“I don't think so.”, Daern'thal offered. “He is your drake. Only occasions I've known of a drake getting sick are those when he is separated from his dragon for extended period of time.”  
“Why?”  
“We require sustenance.”, Daern'thal said, kissing the back of her hand. Roshan saw a blue flash on her skin upon the soft touch of his lips. “I couldn't live without you. It would break my heart.”  
Roshan smiled, but inside, she was frowning. Daern'thal was sweet boy prone to poetic declarations, but last thing she wanted was to poison Dirthamen by accident. Roshan remembered Natha, and how lyrium had driven her mad. She felt uneasy – it had been terribly irresponsible thing to take him back into her bed, to spend time with him when her happiness could manifest as a blue glow under her skin. And she didn't even know how it worked.  
“I think I have to speak with Geldauran.”, Roshan said unhappily. “I promised to Anaris that I'd help out with his eggs today. Could you please ask Felassan if he could come, too? After breakfast?”  
“Of course.”, Daern'thal said, always eager to help.

When Roshan entered Gelduran' chambers in the back of the cavern, she was met by unpleasant sight of naked Solas snuggling with Geldauran. They were apparently having a pillow talk. At least Geldauran was in elven form instead of a dragon, Roshan thought grimly.  
“Good morning.”, Roshan said pointedly, stopping at the doorway.  
“Daughter.”, Geldauran greeted her.  
“We need to talk in private.”, Roshan requested.  
Geldauran sat up in the bed, letting the sheets to fall to her waist. Roshan wondered if Daern'thal could pull off stealing a bed for her, too. She was getting tired of sleeping on the floor. And a door would be nice, too. She missed having privacy.  
“It was pleasant, Solas, but I must attend other matters now. I expect you at sundown.”, Geldauran dismissed his lover. Solas had apparently gotten over the puppy love stage, because he dressed swiftly and departed. Or maybe he was too embarrassed.

Geldauran waited until the door was firmly closed after Solas, and then she stood up. Her form diminished in a blink of an eye. Next moment, the elven beauty looked shrunken and old. She was older than anyone Roshan had ever seen, with deep wrinkles running from her eyes to her ears. Her ears were strange. Round.  
The old woman smiled at her confusion, and opened her mouth to trill few notes in thin voice. The stone ceiling shifted, and veins of lyrium descended down, creating a staircase leading through the stone.  
“What are you?”, Roshan whispered.  
“Explanations will come. But I need your help to climb up the stairs. I’m not exactly in the bloom of my youth anymore, and there is something you need to see.”, Geldauran commanded.  
Feeling wary but too curious to pass the opportunity, Roshan took Geldauran’s arm and they started a slow descent up the spiralling staircase.  
“I wanted to ask you about lyrium. Dirthamen is sleeping too much. I'm worried.”  
“If you want be worried about someone, pick Anaris. He has been upset, because his mate has transcended, and he grieves her loss. Still, it is not an excuse to be neurotic about his eggs.”, Geldauran muttered.  
“Transcended how? I’m sick and tired of guessing.”, Roshan demanded.  
“You have no idea how well I remember that feeling. Questions. Doubts. Fear. But I will teach you everything I know. You are my heir, after all, and it’s not like I’m going to live forever.”, Geldauran said, breathing heavily as they climbed.  
“What do you mean?”, Roshan stopped. “You live in Void. You have dragons, you are a dragon. Evanuris have tried to win the war as long as I remember, but they have all failed. I don’t think there is an assassin who could kill you. If there were, Mythal and Dirthamen would have done it already. Fenedhis lasa, you bedded Solas, who is surely a spy here.”  
Geldauran laughed.  
“It’s not an assassin which will kill me. It’s age. I have lived far past my time. My people live less than eighty years, and I was seven years old, newly joined the order when Mythal eloped with Elgar’nan. There are ways to cheat death, and you will learn them all. I shall teach you.”  
“What? There are no People—“, Roshan felt almost sick. “What kind of twisted magic is that? To steal life and make your body decay while you still live inside it?”  
“Ah, if I had been an elf, it would have been a good guess, but I was not. Your People are not only ones living in this world. There are my people, shemlen, roaming in the north, and durgen’len below the ground you walk on. Spirits deep in the Fade. For ages beyond counting, it has been our task to guard one group against another, keeping things balanced. Because we don’t want ambitious people like Evanuris to run amok, do we? People like Falon’Din to find power they were never meant to use? Magic they cannot handle?”, Geldauran asked shrewdly.  
The stairs turned one last time, and Roshan prepared herself for evident pain when her head would hit the ceiling, but they moved through the stone instead. The sight which opened before them made her speechless. Far above her, Roshan saw a golden city floating in the clouds.  
“This, daughter, is the seat of our order. The wards require three things to pass. First, you must hold a form of the dragon because it can only be reached by flying higher and faster than any bird could. Secondly, you have to be female member of the order. Otherwise, it will self-destruct. Thirdly, you must have enough lyrium to get through the barriers.”  
“Lyrium? That is what I wanted to talk you about. But Falon'Din has lyrium, and he's not a winged drake, not like Dirthamen. Is it harmful for Dirthamen?”, Roshan couldn’t stop staring at the wonder in the sky. She had never seen anything like that. Arlathan had talking statues, but there was no way to make lasting magic without a string of blood sacrifices. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how many were required to keep whole city afloat.  
“How do you think dragons keep harems? We are not generally so lovely persons that we’d have hordes of handsome men waiting to serve us. Sweet girls aren’t tough enough to handle the transformation. But keep your dragon happy, and her body will start to produce lyrium. The stuff is like concentrated magic, and it keeps us shielded in environment like the Void. A sip or two for a drake, and they’ll crawl back for more, begging to lick your skin. And other parts.”, Geldauran remarked.  
“So what is what you do? Except eat babies?”, Roshan tore herself away from the fascinating sight above.  
“We do whatever we must. You know that kind of thinking very well. You let your own unborn child to die because it was mercy.”, Geldauran said, watching her intensely.  
“You know nothing of me.”, Roshan shook her head.  
“So you think, but I know plenty. I know you want to end the slavery and people to become free, but you are frightened. Freedom is hard to get, but even harder to use. And I can work with that. I can give you the means to build a slave rebellion in Elvhenan, because it will be excellent distraction to keep the Evanuris from digging deeper.”, Geldauran told her.  
“The lyrium Falon’Din found. Where it comes from?”, Roshan asked harshly.  
“Those female dragons who don't become the Queen of the Order just eat, mate and grow. If they are not killed, they grow until their bodies fill whole caverns and still they don’t stop growing. Eventually, they will lose their form and their mind dulls. Their bodies become too vast to inhabit. Durgen’len call them Stone, their gods, and lyrium is their blood. In our language, they are 'those who sleep'. Like Anaris' mate.”  
Geldauran smirked at Roshan's shocked expression.  
“It's harsh, isn't it? Become the queen of the Nameless or become a semi-sentient stone. I know what I picked.”, Geldauran remarked.  
“Wouldn't it be far easier not to tell me anything?”, Roshan demanded.  
Geldauran cupped Roshan’s face in her wrinkled hands, and turned her gaze back towards the golden city.  
“You don’t understand it yet, but I will make you understand. The purpose of our Order is much more important than any single life. This is what can be done with lyrium, and why the Evanuris cannot have it. If they get their hands on those who sleep, the lakes of blood you have seen are nothing but a beginning. They would be gods, not kings.”  
“We have to stop them.”, Roshan said, the horrible revelation sinking inside her. “We have to have the peace treaty.”  
“Or a war. Whatever keeps them in check.”, Geldauran said firmly. “Mythal knows this. But sometimes I suspect she is getting too ambitious.”  
She gave Roshan a shrewd glance.  
“There is no rule against failed acolytes like Mythal making second attempt at becoming queen, and my strength is failing. If I were you, I would make sure I was ready to make a coup and win before the end of the year.”

 

Roshan was still shocked when she returned to her part of the cavern. The thankless task of watching Anaris' eggs was just what she needed to distract herself. Roshan was at loss what to do. She wanted nothing more than run to Dirthamen and tell him everything, but Geldauran's words rang too true. Evanuris could not have lyrium. The blue glow under her own skin was suddenly even more frightening. If she ever returned to Elvhenan, if they knew what she was, she would be harvested for power like she was not a living person at all, but a field growing grain for Falon'Din's stores. For first time in months, Roshan had absolutely no wish to return to Elvhenan.  
The worst of all was that she didn't know what she dared to tell Dirthamen, if anything. That morning, Felassan's preference for gossip was a blessing.

“I can't believe Geldauran is fucking Solas.”, Roshan said disgustedly. “What is with that boy and bad choices? Why can't he ever fancy someone nice?”  
“That is terribly conflicted statement. You are either referring yourself as a bad choice, or this is simply a matter of sour grapes.”, Felassan grinned.  
Roshan stuck her tongue out at him.  
“Done him once, never again. I much prefer casual sex.”  
“Casual?”, Felassan almost burst out in laughter. “What's casual in 'come here, my heart', 'you taste so sweet, gaidhalas', 'I burn for you, oh, Dirthamen, please, stars I love you'”  
Roshan gave him a dark glance.  
“I'm a Forgotten One, you know. Very dangerous and whatsoever. ”  
“You are mushy and ridiculously in love.”, Felassan announced with glee.  
“Maybe you should bunk with Solas and Anaris.”  
“It's not my fault that the cave echoes.”, Felassan pointed out. “Now, how much longer we have to sit here and watch the eggs? It's getting really boring.”  
“I know.”, Roshan sighed. “But Anaris kept bugging me. He went on and on about his poor motherless eggs and how he cannot keep watch on more than three hundred at time, and someone should be there when his babies hatch.”  
“How does one get motherless dragon eggs? Where is Anaris' dragon?”, Felassan asked thoughtfully.  
“Maybe he lost her.”, Roshan suggested, skirting around the truth. “He speaks warmly of her, and Daern'thal says no drake would voluntarily stay apart from his mate for long. I've never seen her.”  
Except as a vein of lyrium in the heart of Void, a small voice in her mind whispered, and Roshan felt cold.  
  
\--

Dirthamen was in no hurry to get up. He laid comfortably in his nest of furs, enjoying the warmth still lingering. Solas was not given similar luxury. He sat on the floor, and his breath steamed in the air.  
“What have you learned?”, Dirthamen requested.  
“Great many things, honoured one. Nameless Ones are even stranger than I thought.”, Solas said, trying to collect his thoughts. “Geldauran's answers to my questions do not always make sense, but I believe she doesn't lie.”  
“A well-worded truth can be more misleading than a blatant lie.”, Dirthamen snorted. “Start from the beginning and let me decide whether her answers are true or not.”  
“As you wish, honoured one. Geldauran says that my lady believes dragons are a race, and she thinks they are an order. There is merit for both theories. There are dragons among the Nameless, but only a few possess the ability to think and reason beyond the instincts of an animal. Those few Geldauran refers as 'those who speak', and they make up the order she speaks about.”  
“The order where females lead and men are given roles of mere followers. My mother's favourite power structure.”, Dirthamen said dryly.  
“Indeed. I asked how Mythal and Geldauran were acquainted. She says that Mythal was once an acolyte of the order. Geldauran claims they both lived here in the Void.”  
“Truly?”, Dirthamen's brows shot up.  
“It's just… It sounded ridiculous at first, but then it started to make awful lot of sense.”, Solas said helplessly.  
“So it does.”, Dirthamen remarked, deep in thought.  
“Geldauran told that even though the Void may have only one queen, there might be several females competing for the status. The fight is to death. The heir must kill all other potential queens, and finally the old queen to survive. The aging queen usually chooses her own heir, teaching and preparing her to take over. In Mythal's case, the old queen favoured Geldauran. To save herself, Mythal escaped the Void.”  
Dirthamen was quiet for a moment, digesting the news.  
“Most interesting.”, he finally said. “I think I need to have words with my mother before I proceed with my plan. Gather up my personal items, Solas, and summon Roshan. We have to return to Elvhenan.”

 

Dirthamen was just finishing gathering up his things when he heard Roshan's familiar steps on the stone. He carefully checked the lock on bird cage door and then turned to meet her. She was accompanied by Anaris, Felassan and Daern'thal.  
“Why are you packing?”, a cool voice requested. Roshan stood on the doorway, and she looked furious.  
“I need to return to Elvhenan for a time. Something urgent came up, and I need to speak with my mother. I will return to you as soon as I'm able.”, Dirthamen explained.  
“What kind of urgent?”, she asked.  
“It concerns my mother, and her intentions. If you could open a portal for me and Solas--”  
Her attack was entirely unexpected.

Roshan's teeth were bared in a snarl, and her fingers dug in the soft flesh of his throat as she slammed Dirthamen against the wall, lifting him up until his feet dangled in the air. Like he was a boy, Dirthamen thought as he tried to fight through the burn in his throat. Roshan was shorter than him. There was no way she could lift him against a wall, or hold him there.  
“You promised you would not leave me.”, Roshan snarled. “I believed you. Again.”  
She was so angry that she was shaking visibly, but her hold on him was like iron.  
“You should not have lied to me.”, she said, tears rising to her eyes. “I thought you were honest, and followed me here because you loved me. Not because of lyrium.”  
“Vhenan, I-”, Dirthamen tried to answer, but her hand gripped his throat only tighter, stealing his air.  
“Roshan, stop it. This is not you.”, Felassan pleaded anxiously.  
“He is her drake. I tried to warn him not to piss off Razikale so near the spring season, but he wouldn't listen. Dragons are always easy to anger before rampage.”, Anaris shrugged.  
“He has to learn discipline.”, Daern'thal added with uncharacteristic coolness.  
“Discipline.”, Roshan said, watching Dirthamen intently. “Yes. And honesty. Whatever fucking plot you have cooked up this time, this is my ground, Dirthamen. You are not the master here, and I'm not the slave who has to be satisfied whatever morsels of knowledge you deem fit to give me.”  
She let him fall and turned to Anaris.  
“Carry him for me. I'm going to take this lying bastard to little trip to Heart of the Void and teach him a lesson. Bring the birds, too.”  
Roshan turned around and left.

Dirthamen was still wheezing for breath when Anaris hoisted him up to his arms.  
“Think it this way, Evanuris. If she doesn't kill you, this might be the best night in your whole life.”, Anaris advised with sharp smile.  
“I can smell the lyrium in her blood turning red.”, Daern'thal moaned, looking flustered.  
“It's highly poisonous, of course, even for us. But the high is not like anything else in the whole world.”, Anaris promised.  
“You shouldn't let her break your skin. If you can stop her, of course.”, Daern'thal swallowed, trying to be helpful despite his blush. “Try not to die, Dirthamen. I'm not certain if I'm skilled enough to take over your duties so soon.”  
“Likely not.”, Anaris said gravelly. “Don't die.”  
And then he dropped Dirthamen on the simple stone floor of elevator, sending him to heart of the Void.

–

“I've been thinking, vhenan, and I think I have finally understood what is wrong with our relationship.”, Roshan said conversationally.  
“You have me chained on a wall in the Void and you want to talk about our relationship?”, Dirthamen asked incredulously. The lyrium was hissing at him, and the tentacles holding him at place were cold enough to burn.  
“Why not?”, Roshan asked. “It seems to be only way to make you listen.”  
Her eyes flashed red, and Dirthamen remembered Daern'thal's warning. He cleared his throat and began swiftly:  
“I understand you are upset, gaidhalas, but you are jumping to conclusions. It is true that I was packing, but the reason--”  
“Geldauran said you were after lyrium!”, she screamed. “Just like Falon'Din. She said Evanuris want to harvest dragons for lyrium!”  
“I'm not!”, Dirthamen denied it fervently.  
“Are you sick, then? What is wrong with you? You sleep all the time, and then you want to leave to meet your mother. Who is one of them! Geldauran's order.”  
“I'm trying to broker a peace treaty!”, Dirthamen shouted, pulling against the restrains. “I told my father that he has to withdraw his troops within a week.”  
“Peace treaty? The one what you were joking about?”, Roshan demanded.  
“Yes! I told him I will bond you as a sign of peace between us and Nameless. The Evanuris are willing to begin negotiations if I come home, and withdraw the army as gesture of good faith.”  
“Oh, fenedhis lasa.”, Roshan fisted her hands, looking sick.  
“I had excellent reasons to ask for a portal! Now release me. At once!”, Dirthamen snapped.  
“I don't care about your reasons. I'm sure you have perfectly good explanation, but it doesn't matter now. What matters is the fucking order of how you do things. You can't give orders and expect me to obey blindly.”, Roshan fisted her hands. “That is how you treat those below than you. Information on need-to-know basis. It is obvious that despite everything, you still don't give me proper respect.”  
“That is not tru--”, Dirthamen tried to cut in, but failed.  
“I won't agree to any peace treaty ever if you don't even bother to ask my opinion before telling everyone about us! It was the same thing when you said your family we were courting, never asked me, and I ended up conscripted in Elgar'nan's army!”, Roshan yelled.  
The lyrium tentacles were dancing behind her, hissing and stroking her skin. She opened the bird cage, taking one of Dirthamen's pet birds gently in her hands.  
“This is regrettable, but I've tried words with you before, and they didn't work. Maybe a demonstration of raw power will work better.”, Roshan said, stroking bird's feathers. “You, little one, will remind your master of my fear, and your brother shall be a symbol of his deceit.”  
She whispered quiet words Dirthamen did not recognize, and the lyrium veins surged forwards, wrapping around her arms, legs and body. Dirthamen could smell the flesh burning, and her scream of pain twisted his heart. He fought against his chains, but the lyrium was unforgiving. He could only watch as the lyrium around Roshan started to darken from blue to purple, then brighten again until it was red as blood, and then the Void ripped wide open. The small chamber was suddenly filled with green energy of Fade, and a roar of magic stronger than Dirthamen had ever felt.

The song of lyrium summoned spirits through the breach in Void, a spirit of Fear and a spirit of Deceit. They were old and powerful ones, drawn to Roshan like moths to a flame. With cold anger, she caught them and twisted them, working a spell of blood. His birds screeched and screamed, and the spirits howled louder, and Dirthamen could do nothing but stare as his heart split them inside two raven-like bodies, forcing the waking world change much like Somniari changed the Fade. The power radiating from her made his mouth water, and he wanted nothing more than taste it.

The magic rolled over him like a wave, and he moaned as the spell caught him. His magic was drunk, spilling over, pressed, stroked just the right way. All around him, Fade was pouring in the Void. The veins of lyrium burned in various shades of blue and red, forcing the Fade to flow through the pathways assigned by blood. In the center, his heart stood with her hands spread, a raven in each hand.

They still looked like his birds, still, but now they were different. Possessed, maybe? No, it was more than just a simple possession. When Fear opened it's wings, the shadow it cast on the glow of lyrium moved on it's own accord. The raven was equally present in the eerie green glow of the Fade as well as in the material world. Dirthamen tried to make sense of it, but then there was another breach in the Void, and he sank under the wave of power again. Stars, the dragon blood they had purchased so steeply from Geldauran was nothing but a drop in ocean. With power like this, there would be no limit of what they could do, Dirthamen thought dimly. They could build a whole new world with dragon's blood.

 

His wrists and ankles were numb and sore when the lyrium finally let him go, and he fell on his knees, not feeling his limbs. Dirthamen cursed under his breath, trying to rub his sleeping leg. He looked up to see Roshan standing in front of him.  
A raven demon sat on her shoulder, watching him with black eyes which faintly glowed red. Fear. Deceit regarded Dirthamen with darkly amused expression of cat watching a mouse, and he could have sworn there was a spiteful gleam in it's eye.  
“Go back to your master, now. Do his bidding, and follow him, always.”, Roshan commanded, and the demon birds flocked to Dirthamen.  
She knelt on the ground with him. Her hands were cold as she closed them around his wrist, healing the burn marks of lyrium chains. Roshan said nothing as she methodically moved to his right wrist, repeating the spell, and then to his legs. Finally she took his face between her hands, smoothing the burns on his mouth with her spell.  
“I'm sorry.”, she said quietly.  
His legs were still too prickly to stand on, so he simply reached forwards, and pulled her on his lap.  
“I'm sorry, too.”, he whispered.  
“I could have killed you. I thought you were after lyrium.”  
“But you didn't.”  
“I made you a pair of demon ravens.”, Roshan's voice hitched, making her sound perilously close to tears.  
“As courting gifts go, they truly stand out among the gilded little boxes, sculptures and old books I usually get, gaidhalas.”, Dirthamen said, rocking her gently.  
“Dirthamen. You should not negotiate an alliance based on marriage before asking the girl.”, Roshan said a moment later, sounding tired. “Unless you were planning to bond Geldauran, of course.”  
“That is an option, yes. But personally I think she's a bit too old for me.”, Dirthamen said.  
“You are a terrible person.”, Roshan buried her face against his chest. Fear and Deceit sat on the broken dragon statue, watching them with impassive eyes.  
“Has it ever occurred to you how perfect life could be if we were terrible together?”, he asked lightly, sinking his fingers in her hair. “You should bond me. I'm much nicer than Solas. And better in bed, too. I'm smart, handsome and just right for you. You wouldn't like Daern'thal. He is much too sweet. He would piss in his pants if you chained him to wall with living lyrium tentacles. I, on the other hand, think it was sexy.”  
“Fenedhis lasa, Dirthamen.”, his heart groaned.  
“It was.”, he insisted. “I know you don't like bonds, but you should make an exception. It's me, Roshan. You know me better than anyone except Falon'Din. I love you, and I know you love me. We could be happy.”  
“Yes, but..”  
“It doesn't hurt.”, Dirthamen cajoled. “Just a few little words, nothing too difficult. You don't even have to wear a dress if that is the problem. You can wear an armour, if you insist, and I can put the flowers in my hair and wear a dress if it makes you agree.”  
She wavered, he could tell, but it was not enough to convince her to say yes. Dirthamen sighed, saying the words he never thought he would utter:  
“If you bond with me, I swear I will stop having affairs with other people.”  
Roshan looked up, blinking owlishly.  
“You would stop sleeping around?”, she asked carefully.  
“Yes.”, Dirthamen gave in. “Even though it's politically useful tool and a pleasant way to pass time, it clearly bothers you. If you agree to a bond with me, I swear I will never take another man or a woman to my bed.”  
He could see a quiet smile starting from the corners of her mouth, and he knew he had her. The price, no matter how inconvenient it was, felt insignificant at the moment.  
“I could cast a binding spell, if you want assurances.”, he offered.  
Roshan shook her head.  
“No.”, she replied. “I will simply trust your word. And your judgement.”  
“Will you agree, then?”, Dirthamen asked.  
“I'm not sure what I should answer.”, Roshan admitted, looking conflicted. “A bond between us is bound to create a mess. I'm stuck in the Void. You can't leave your lands without a ruler for long. You have slaves. I hate slavery. I have irrational urge to bite people, and I can't even control my own shape half the time. Geldauran wants to begin to train me as her successor and there is little I can do to stop her since she can control me like a puppet. What will the other Evanuris say when you tell you're going to bond a woman who is flying across their territories, eating sheep?”  
“It's not a problem. I'll just sell them more sheep.”, Dirthamen replied. “There are plenty in the mountains.”  
“Vhenan.”, Roshan sighed. “Do you truly think that Geldauran or your family would ever give us a permission to bond? The debate alone will go on thousands of years. Your father was demanding a ridiculous amount of money just for a right to court you, remember? The Void isn't exactly a treasure trove. Without Daern'thal's penchant for thievery, we would still be sleeping on the bare ground.”  
She looked at him, shaking her head sadly.  
“If it was just you, I would have said yes.”  
“You would?”  
“Of course. I do love you. You are smart, handsome and all other things you listed.”  
“Then the matter is set. I proposed; you agreed. Come. We need to do it before you change your mind.”, Dirthamen stood up, taking her hand.  
“But how?”, Roshan was baffled. “Didn't we just agree that it was not possible just yet.”  
“Ah, but we can always do it first, negotiate  - and apologize - later.”, Dirthamen flashed her a smile.

–

Sylaise didn't know when her private bedchamber had became the favoured destination of unexpected visitors. She gave a suspicious look at green-skinned man who wore nothing but a long shirt. He was making silly faces at Sylaise' baby, who giggled. At least the second stranger, marked with Dirthamen's vallasin, looked just like an elf. She didn't mind Roshan, since the woman was Halevuna's godmother, and Dirthamen was not stranger to Sylaise's bedchamber but this time he had brought two ravens with him. They were sitting on Sylaise's bedposts, and there was something unsettling in the way they watched her.  
“Daern'thal cared for the baby when she was in the Void.”, Roshan explained.  
“Mmh.”, Sylaise was not willing to trust half-dressed dragon with her baby. She lifted baby Halevuna from the cradle, securing the baby on the crook of her arm before she turned her attention at Dirthamen.  
“What are you doing here? I haven't seen you in months.”, Sylaise asked.  
“I've been busy.”, Dirthamen said nonchalantly. “Actually, we came to cash a favour.”  
“What kind of favour?”, Sylaise asked warily.  
“We need influential, non-partial witness, and you would fit perfectly in the role. It doesn't require anything more than five minutes of your time. You don't even need to leave the room.”  
“All right.”, Sylaise nodded reluctantly, looking at Roshan. “I witness truthfully whatever Dirthamen has cooked up this time, and we are even?”  
Roshan looked like she was going to bolt back in the Void any moment. Dirthamen noticed her nervousness too, because he shifted slightly, taking a firm hold from her hand.  
“Yes.”, she said in shaking voice.  
“You seem rather upset.”, Sylaise noted.  
“I've been less nervous doing a suicide run against an army.”, Roshan replied unhappily.  
“Oh, this will be much nicer.”, Dirthamen said cheerfully.  
Sylaise ignored him and asked from Roshan:  
“You are certain this is the favour you want? Don't let him distract you.”  
Dirthamen squeezed her hand, and Roshan straightened her posture, willing herself to calm down.  
“Yes.”, she said in stronger voice.

Sylaise offered her hand to Roshan, sealing the agreement with spell. When the binding caught, she felt a slight snap in the spell, and withdrew.  
“Now I'm very eager to know what is behind all this?”, she inquired.  
Dirthamen's pleased, not fully benevolent smirk lit the room.  
“I'm thrilled to tell you all the details, dear friend. You, along Daern'thal and Felassan, have the honour to witness my bonding ceremony to Heiress of the Nameless Ones right here in this room.”  
Sylaise was stunned into a silence for a moment. She wanted very much to scream her opinion about this straight at his annoyingly handsome, smirking face – how he _dared_ to do this to her after all the years he had led her on with empty hints and promises which never came true- , but Sylaise was a lady. She knew how to keep her composure. Because screaming her frustration at Dirthamen was out of question, she settled on second best option. Dignity never failed, and Sylaise was accustomed to wielding this particular type of revenge.  
“I'm not sure whether I should congratulate or commiserate you, Roshan, but you are not doing this wearing someone else's ugly dressing gown. The design looks positively ancient. Any bonding ceremony I oversee must be done properly.”, Sylaise said firmly, ringing a small bell to summon her servants. “My garden will be splendid at this time of year. I'll have my servants lit up paper lanterns and cater a feast. We'll go through my wardrobe – I have just the thing for you to wear.”

Dirthamen was fairly sure that Sylaise had done it on purpose. There was no way Sylaise just happened to have a wedding dress sewn of enchanted rose petals in her closet. The enchantments never lasted for long, and keeping the flowers alive required one mage devoted to duty. The pale pink roses were Sylaise's favourite flowers, and the colour would have complemented her golden hair perfectly. On Roshan, the effect was not as striking, but Dirthamen found his heart beating a bit faster all the same as he held her hands, standing opposite her in Sylaise's garden. A spirit of Love, summoned by Sylaise, was hovering close and waiting.  
“My promise to you is simple. I'll stay with you until the end. From now on, my purpose is to love you. Forever.”, Roshan said. The dimple on her left cheek became visible as she continued: “As a proof of my true love and honourable intentions, I gift you..”  
Her eyes were twinkling with laughter, and the dimple on her cheek deepened. She looked just like all those years ago in Falon'Din's kitchen, when Dirthamen had first felt the urge to kiss her. He had fallen in love with her smiles, and laughter, and the terrible disrespect which manifested itself in her next sentence.  
“I gift you a pair of demonic ravens, Fear and Deceit, which were yours to begin with, but without demons.”, Roshan announced in proper, serious manner.  
“I can't tell how honored I am.”, Dirthamen said, feeling his heart swell with warmth. He had not been entirely sure if Roshan would bolt away in final moment, considering her opinions on commitment.  
“Follow the ceremony, Dirthamen. You can speak freely later.”, Sylaise scolded.  
“My promise to you is simple. I'll stay with you until the end. From now on, my purpose is to love you. Forever.”, Dirthamen recited. “As a proof of my true love and honourable intentions, I gift you a cabin in the mountains of my realm.”  
Roshan's smile deepened, and she entwined her fingers with his. Dirthamen knew he could have given her much finer gifts, a largesse, but those gifts would not have the same meaning behind them.  
“Sylaise's blessings upon your home.”, Sylaise spoke the final words of the ceremony Evanuris had accepted in their council at Ghilan'nain's tower last summer. The Hearthkeeper nodded to spirit of Love, which hovered closer, waiting. It made eager kissy faces at Dirthamen, who pulled his wife – there was unfamiliar sweet novelty in the word as he thought of it – closer, letting his hands to rest on the soft petals covering her skin. He discharged his personal barriers, feeling Roshan do the same, and kissed his vhenan.

The spirit of Love passed through them both. It did not last longer than two heartbeats, but suddenly Dirthamen's mind was filled with feelings which were not his, but hers. He could feel her presence in the back of his mind. This was a permanent variation of spell they had often used during sex.  
_< Vhenan>_, Roshan whispered in his mind.  
_< Gaidhalas>_, Dirthamen replied, and his heart felt softer than the flowers on her skin.

 


	19. Peace?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen attempts to introduce the idea of peace treaty to other Evanuris.

Dirthamen stretched in his bed, savouring the feeling of a job well done. Even if it had taken him several hundred years, a trip into Void and few close calls with mortal danger, his gamble had paid off and he had finally gotten everything he wanted.  
Stars, it felt wonderful to sleep in real bed again. It was warm, and there was light coming through the windows, and he was not freezing in a cave. It was important to appreciate all these things, and prepare for what was to come. Negotiating the peace treaty would not be easy. Dirthamen knew it. It would likely take hundreds of years before the war between Nameless and Evanuris ended, if ever. But all the necessary pieces were on his side of the chess board, now. He could afford to wait.

Of all welcome changes, his new wife was definitely his favourite. Dirthamen spent a moment listening the soft puffs of her steady breathing, and revelled in the fact that he had finally, finally caught her. The thought made him feel ridiculously soft, almost fluffy inside. Not that he would ever tell anyone. It would ruin his reputation.  
Surely Roshan had slept enough already? There were plots to plan, a queen to overthrow, and a bonding celebration long overdue.  
“Good morning.”, Dirthamen purred in her ear, and the bond between them flared as she opened her eyes.

 

–  
Mythal had received a word from her son very late last night, informing her that he wished to meet her in his summer estate. Mananor was curious choice because seaside was almost empty during the winter storms, but it promised privacy. There were things Mythal had to discuss with her errant child, and she did not look forward to it.

The hardest thing in executing her plan had always been the weakness towards her children. When she finally saw Dirthamen, she didn't know whether she wanted to kiss him for being alive or smack him for being such an idiot.  
Even though it was almost midday, he wore a black morning gown with open chest, held together by wide belt. His hair was messy and uncombed, but he looked unharmed. Mythal felt relief flooding in, until her eyes focused on faded scar on his neck. She pressed her lips tighter together.  
“Good morning, mother”, Dirthamen yawned, gesturing for a servant to pour another cup of tea.  
“Don't ever do anything like that again.”, Mythal snapped angrily, unable to control what she felt. “You were ridiculous! Geldauran could have killed you!”  
“But she did not.”, Dirthamen replied. He took a sip from his cup, watching Mythal. “It would have helped, mother, if you had told me about the Order.”  
Mythal put down the cookie she had planned to taste, and dismissed her servants with a quiet gesture. So this was how he was going to play this, then.  
“If you think that flinging that word against my face will change anything, you are mistaken, child. I thought you were smarter than this.”  
“You owe us the truth, mother. I'm not a child. I'm grown man, and I will not be a puppet in your strings any longer. Blind obedience has it's limits, and I reached mine in the Void.”, Dirthamen's voice was cool. “You owe me answers. What are you trying to achieve with this?”  
Mythal sighed.  
“I try to answer you the best I can, but it is hard to put one's whole life story in few sentences. Simply put, I wish to build a glorious kingdom for our People. Before I began, we had no cities. No roads, nothing. Just a few straggling clans sacrificing their virgin daughters to dragons for peace. That's how I ended in the Void.”  
“If you wish to spin a story for me, mother, you should have chosen something else than the most worn-out clichéd romance novel from father's bookcase.”  
Mythal sniffed.  
“It is hardly my fault that your father has sentimental and atrocious taste in literature.”  
“Do go on.”, Dirthamen opened the palm of his hand.  
“Dragons hold the key to true power. It's in our blood, passed from all way down from the Great Mother. I'm still not certain whether there was a Great Mother once, or if her existence is just a tale. The Order sees her as a religious figure.”, Mythal's voice faded. She was unsure how much to say. There were risks.  
“I was told that you were a daughter who failed to become the queen.”, Dirthamen remarked. “Is it true?”  
“It is.”  
“Why you aren't producing lyrium, then?”  
“Why you think dragons have anything to do with lyrium?”, the defensive answer came naturally to Mythal after all these years.  
“Don't play me for a fool. Answer my question.”, Dirthamen said sharply. “I know what lyrium is. I also know what happens to failed heirs. You are at least five or six thousand years old. Why aren't you a lyrium vein under ground?”  
Mythal chuckled.  
“You should be grateful for that small difference. Otherwise your skin would not be so flawlessly pretty. Scales.”  
“Mother.”, Dirthamen warned.  
“If you must. I'm not entirely certain, but I think it's the Void. Some things only flourish in cold, dark places. Every time I visit, I manage to produce few drops but nothing more. It reminds me, Dirthamen. Where is the slave girl now?”  
“In the Void, naturally. I have spoken with father: I want to end this useless war between us and Geldauran.”  
“Is this you speaking, or Geldauran? Or the slave girl?”  
Dirthamen looked offended.  
“You said you wanted to make Elvhenan great.”, he placed the palms of his hands firmly on the table, leaning forwards. “It is never going to happen with the war. Geldauran is willing to consider a peace treaty. We would be fools not to take advantage of it. With properly drafted contract, our losses would diminish, and our gains might become much larger.”  
“Good. I was worried about you.”, she remarked. “Lyrium addiction is not pretty. It muddles the mind, and foolish people mistake it for love.”  
“I've never been a fool, mother.”, Dirthamen said and smiled.  
  


\--

Daern'thal thought his dragon had never looked so soft and pretty. There were no hard edges at all, just the soft glow of lyrium persistently glowing through her skin. The sunlight coming from windows made her sparkle like a goddess of gold and blue, and Daern'thal recited a quiet prayer to Great Mother to apologize for doubts he had harboured towards his coterie-brother's ability to care for their dragon. It was not easy to be the second drake when the first drake was doing a lousy job. Daern'thal had been resentful for Dirthamen's ignorance and bad performance at the past, thinking he could have done it better, but a lesson of discipline had done wonders to his coterie-brother. Some drakes required a firmer hand than others.

The reason for their dragon's evident happiness was not entirely clear to Daern'thal. The importance of holding hands and prattling in elvish while other people looked on had largely been lost to him. The part with pink spirit and kissing had probably been important, but it was bad manners to join in unless invitation was issued by his dragon, and she had not done such thing. It was probably because she always said Daern'thal was too young. It wasn't true. He was a mature drake and old enough for mating, and spring was coming soon. It occurred to him that maybe he should speak directly about the issue to Roshan. It could be that she would be welcoming to his plea, especially because his reasons were sound.

His dragon smiled, a relaxed and soft smile, as she sat up on bed and reached for a mug on a tray set on bedside table.  
“Have something, Daern'thal. It's breakfast.”  
“I'm not sure what the most items are.”, he admitted uncertainly.  
“Try this.”, Roshan suggested, offering her mug to him. Daern'thal took a careful sip. A dark, sweet taste of warmth filled his mouth, and his eyes widened.  
“It's hot chocolate.”, Roshan chuckled at his shocked expression.  
“There is nothing like this in the Void. Nothing.”, Daern'thal said, and drank more before he remembered it was not his mug. It was bad manners to eat his dragon's food, especially so near the nesting season.  
“I'm sorry.”, he said sheepishly, offering the almost empty mug back to Roshan.  
“It's all right, Daern'thal.”, she said warmly and poured more from a beaker, offering him a mug of his own. Daern'thal slipped an arm over her shoulder tentatively, uncertain whether the gesture would be accepted, but Roshan simply sighed and pressed comfortably against him. He felt the wonderful cool burn of lyrium flooding into him as she relaxed, leaning against his side. His heart swelled, and he was at peace.  
“When we are going back home?”, he asked.  
“I talked about that with Dirthamen. I want to find out where Falon'Din is getting his lyrium. I think solving that mystery will make Geldauran more likely to accept the peace treaty. Also, there are people important to me whom he is endangering.”  
“Mother was always more forgiving when we brought her presents. She would never have agreed to let Dirthamen return to Elvhenan. Not without precautions.”, Daern'thal nodded.  
“Precautions?”  
“Lyrium can cause dementia. It wipes away memories, but it is hard to keep the damage contained.”  
The soft glow of blue suddenly sparked with red, and Daern'thal bit his lip not to moan when he caught the rush. She was glorious when she was angry. Oh, Great Mother.  
“Geldauran or anyone else will never do anything like that to him.”, Roshan stated fiercely.  
“I know.”, Daern'thal said soothingly, stroking her arm. “It only happens to those who haven't built up resistance. He and me both are perfectly safe. You can't hurt us.”  
“Are you certain?”  
“Every dragon sings lyrium differently. It's your song we're attuned to. Not mother's.”  
She said nothing, and it took a while before Daern'thal felt her relaxing again. Blue glow returned, but weaker than before. Keeping his dragon happy was harder than Daern'thal had thought. Maybe it was best to change the topic.  
“This new nest is splendid.”, he said, admiring the room around them. “It is good place to prepare for the spring.”  
“Why the spring is so important?”, Roshan asked.  
“It's the spring rampage.”, Daern'thal said, surprised. “Every hundred years those who speak leave their nests to fly. I don't know where they go, but when the dragons return, they will mate and hatch eggs.”  
“I have no intention on doing that.”, Roshan said with surprising fierceness.  
“But you have to.”, Daern'thal panicked. “The spring rampage makes dragons strong. They grow and fight, and establish their power over one another. If you are not there, you will get hurt. Or someone else becomes the heir, and we all will die.”  
“I had a baby once. It did not go well.”, she said, and the glow on her skin dimmed a bit. “I don't think I want to have another.”  
“I could help you.”, Daern'thal said eagerly. “I'm very good at taking care of eggs. And elven-shape hatchlings, too, if you like those better-.”  
His dragon smiled sadly, and caressed his cheek.  
“Oh, Daern'thal. You are still so very young.”  
“I'm not young. I'm a mature drake, old enough to fight for you. I would be old enough to fly with you, if you only gave me wings. If you fail, and power goes to someone else, I will die because I belong to you. It is not fair!”, Daern'thal burst. “It is not fair that you promised me wings, and still you keep saying I'm too young. I love you, and you think I'm a child! I'm two thousand seasons old. Older than you!”  
Roshan put her cup away, and her expression grew serious.  
“I'm sorry.”, she apologized. “I don't understand how this works, but I love him. I love Dirthamen, and I like you.”  
“It is not a problem.”, Daern'thal tried to explain frustratedly. “He is your first drake, and I'm your second drake. It is not wrong to share in a coterie. He is my coterie-brother, and if he makes you happy, I'm pleased. It is good for everyone. But I can't serve you properly without my wings.”  
“What I'm trying to say, Daern'thal, that I spent years and years alone before I fell in love. It was unexpected, and sometimes horrendous, but ultimately it made me very happy. I wanted him.”, Roshan said patiently. She lifted her hand, making a swooping gesture around the room. “And now we have all this, no matter how short a time, and it makes me happy. Because nobody can ever take him away from me, now. He will be with me until death cuts the bond. “  
She looked at Daern'thal and said softly:  
“I never wanted to be someone's wife, but now that I am, I'm happy. And this is the happiness I would like you to find. You should at least have a chance to try before I give you your wings.”  
“I don't know if I understand.”, Daern'thal replied, feeling agitated. “Does it mean you are breaking your word?”  
“Never.”, Roshan said, calming his fear. “I know it is important for you, and I promised. Would it ease your mind if we agreed on a date?”  
“Yes.”  
“All right. When the summer ends, I will take you to wilderness and give you wings. We will stay here for spring and summer. I have to find a way to win a fight against Geldauran, and searching for that is impossible in the Void.”, she stated.  
Daern'thal nodded. It was good thinking, because she had to win. He counted: it was six months until the end of the summer. He could wait that long.  
“This is one of Dirthamen's holdings, a summer palace in western part of his realm. Mananor is the second-largest of his cities. A nice place. I can't go out glowing like this, but you should go. Felassan can help you with disguise charms. Elvhenan is not like the Void, and there is much for you to see. I think you might like it.”, Roshan suggested.

 

Daern'thal was not certain if he liked Mananor. There were so many rules. The city was colourful, and there were so many things to steal. It was fun, until Roshan told him to stop. She said that Daern'thal should only steal from rich people, like Dirthamen, and there was no point to it since the palace staff gave them anything Daern'thal requested.

The servants gave him clothes, too, even though he didn't ask for them. The seams on his trousers itched, the shirt made him sweat, and he never was certain which trouser leg he was supposed to put his manhood in. When he asked advice from Felassan, the man started to cackle, and Dirthamen just pinched the bridge of his nose again, muttering something about megalomaniac drakes. So Daern'thal decided to switch it every other day. But it was a lot of work, and after a week he just gave up. Roshan never said anything, and Daern'thal was not offended by stares of palace staff. He knew he was a handsome young drake. Unfortunately, his coterie-brother was not accustomed to not being the center of attention.  
  
“Daern'thal. You have to start wearing clothes.”, his coterie-brother said strictly, holding a stupid-looking shirt in front of him. “There are rumours about naked green man slipping in and out of my bedroom.”  
“But I have to go there. Someone has to keep company to Roshan, and you are away so often. It's not proper to leave one's dragon alone for too long. Someone could attack the nest.”, Daern'thal protested.  
“I have excellent security here in my palace.”  
“No, you don't.”, Daern'thal said. “Roshan said so after I stole earrings for her from your treasure chamber.”  
“Which treasure chamber?”, Dirthamen asked, unfazed.  
“The one partially hidden in Fade, beneath the cleaning cupboard.”  
Dirthamen pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained.  
“How did you find it?”,  
“It _stinks_ of dragon blood. Disgusting. I could smell it miles away. They were my baby brothers, you know, and you killed them to build a stupid treasure chamber. We all are Geldauran's hatchlings.”, Daern'thal glared disapprovingly at Dirthamen.  
“You ate at least two dozen of my children.”, Dirthamen replied, crossing his arms over his chest.  
“We did not.”, Daern'thal sniffed. “Just few of them, for the show. Mother always made us stop after you left.”  
“Why did you want them, if not for food or show of power?”, Dirthamen asked with interest.  
“I could tell you. But I don't think I want to. Not before you put the ugly shirt away. Anaris said that not wearing clothes makes good effect on ladies. You are just trying to ruin my chances.”, Daern'thal accused.  
“You people are hopeless. I've never walked around naked, and I don't lack for company.”  
Daern'thal's eyes narrowed.  
“ _Didn't_ lack for company.”, he corrected sharply. “Good drakes are monogamous. Bad drakes..”  
“Get eaten, I remember.”, Dirthamen made a bored gesture. “But how about a wager? You forget Anaris' questionable wisdom on women and start wearing clothes I give you. Give it a month. If it doesn't work, I will hold a court naked. Once.”  
“Done.”, Daern'thal said. Even though he did not ugly, sweaty fabrics against his skin, it would be worth it to educate his coterie-brother on proper way to impress people.

–

Despite the occasional difficulties with his guests, Dirthamen finished the first draft of peace treaty in late winter. He summoned the rest of Evanuris to discuss it at his Arlathan estate, far away from naked dragons and glowing wives. Dirthamen did not expect others to agree, but he wanted to introduce the idea to them, and gain permission to begin actual negotiations.

“The peace treaty with Forgotten Ones is necessary.”, Dirthamen said, looking at the Evanuris around him. “Elvhenan will never be great if we keep pouring resources in a war we can't win. We all have sacrificed enough.”  
Even though Sylaise knew it was just another of Dirthamen's plots, she couldn't help but to feel touched by his earnest plea. If she hadn't known, she would have thought Dirthamen actually believed in his agenda. Maybe he did. Sylaise considered the possibility. It was not impossible. He seemed to take this seriously.  
If she put her personal feelings aside and thought the issue as a leader of Elvhenan, there was much she could do without the constant strain of supplying soldiers and expensive materials to northern and western fronts. And personally, Sylaise was never going to give another child to dragons again.  
“Why the Nameless Ones would want to give up?”, Andruil asked.  
“A very good question.”, Dirthamen replied smoothly. “It is because their power structure is changing. Geldauran has declared her intent to abdicate before the end of the year.”  
His words were drowned under other voices. Andruil was shouting, Elgar'nan was standing up, but what drew Dirthamen's attention was his mother's reaction. Mythal had crossed her fingers lightly, a gesture she often utilized when she was calculating, and there was a thoughtful look on her face.

It took a while for order to return in the meeting room, but when it did, Mythal was first to speak.  
“I think Dirthamen's suggestion is worth considering. Geldauran is an enemy we know. It can be said that we have had a certain understanding with her, but whoever succeeds her, might not be willing to continue our agreement.”  
“For now, we have allowed dragons to wander freely. If there was ill will between us, they could cause much damage.”  
“Since when a war does not count as a 'ill will'?”, Andruil demanded.  
“Since your war has been nothing but a foolish drain on resources and people.”, Sylaise remarked much to Dirthamen's surprise. “It's a ploy. Everyone knows it. But I'm running out of people to send to their deaths. Those lives would be much better used elsewhere.”  
“If there were a peace treaty or the supply suddenly ended, how would we make up the loss of Geldauran's tributes?”, Ghilan'nain asked carefully Dirthamen. “Access to dragon's blood is what raises us above others. I believe nobody in this room wishes to lose her position.”  
“It is a valid question.”, Falon'Din noted from his seat. He was watching Dirthamen with narrowed eyes.  
“Agreement sealed now, before Geldauran abdicates, could be made to bind her successor, too.”, Dirthamen replied, keeping his expression carefully neutral.  
“How?”, Elgar'nan asked, a faint smile curving his lips.  
His father was enjoying this all too much. But if Dirthamen had not educated his father on his plan beforehand, Elgar'nan might have ruined the whole thing by throwing a tantrum for losing his war.  
“The Nameless Ones have matriarchal society. Geldauran's heir is female. Agreements written on parchment don't last, but the ones sealed with marriage bond do. We have three eligible men among Evanuris. It is a sacrifice, but sacrifices must be made for the sake of Elvhenan.”, Dirthamen stated.  
He rather enjoyed seeing the panicked look on June's face, but he did not expect Falon'Din to stand up so quickly that his chair fell.  
“No!”, Falon'Din yelled. “We will not make a single concession towards the lizards, especially not me or my brother! I refuse to even consider it! If none of you have the strength to stand against them and stop crawling on your knees--”  
“It's not about that, brother!”, Dirthamen cut him angrily.  
“It is nothing but weakness! The power of dragons is ours to take, and there is no need to sacrifice me or you to do it. I will show you all.”, Falon'Din slammed his hand against the table.  
Dirthamen noticed Andruil and June exchanging glances, while Sylaise stared fixedly at the painting on the wall. Something had obviously happened.  
“A month from now, I will prove my words to you. You all are invited to my Arlathan estate to see true power.”, Falon'Din announced, his eyes burning furiously. “After that, we can forget the whole stupid treaty and deal with the lizards, permanently.”

\--

Senris pushed open the door to sparring room of Elgar'nan's barracks. It was empty and dark. The dim light coming through sole window lit only the a small spot on the center of the room, and nothing else.  
“I know you are there. I found your message.”, he said calmly to darkness. “If you think you can make me defect, you are mistaken. My loyalty to my lord is not for sale.”  
A snicker echoed in the dark.  
“I'm not after your loyalty, Senris. Just your skill, and I think we can find a common goal.”, Roshan said.  
He heard a soft thump as a dark form whirled through the air, landing on the sole lit spot on the floor with a flair of performer. She pushed her hair away from her face and continued:  
“I'm going to cut the niceties and go straight to business. The Nameless Ones and your lord have a common interest: Dirthamen's peace treaty with the Nameless. I trust you are familiar with what happened when the issue was presented to council yesterday?”  
“Yes.”, Senris replied. “Personally, I'm not convinced, but my lord is rather fond of the motion. He believes that if Falon'Din can convince others that dragon's blood is not needed, the negotiations for peace will never even start.”  
He considered how much to tell, and then added:  
“We believe Falon'Din is going to showcase the blue substance he has been working on.”  
“Lyrium.”, Roshan supplemented harshly.  
“And what exactly is our common interest in this matter?”, Senris requested.  
“I want to find out where my former lord gets lyrium he's been harvesting. That information is something your lord might be interested in, too. I'm looking for a capable partner to join me for intelligence gathering job with some sabotage included.”  
“I see.”, Senris said slowly.  
“And your lord can blame it on the Nameless when Falon'Din throws a tantrum.”, Roshan added.  
“It does sweeten the deal.”, Senris mused.  
He considered for a moment.  
“Do you expect me to give my answer now, or you are willing to give me time to converse with my lord?”  
“I'm a professional, Senris.”, Roshan sniffed. “I'm not going to let you schedule an ambush.”  
“Thought so.”, Senris sighed, sheathing his sword. “Let's get going, then.”  
“Through your armoury, first.”, Roshan said, gesturing Senris to go first. “We need supplies. A sword.”  
“Why? I thought you were working with Dirthamen.”, Senris queried as he dispelled the protective wards.  
“Of course not. He knows nothing of this.”, she replied.  
Much to Senris' disbelief, her words rang true.

  



	20. Falon'Din's mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Vhenan, I've left to search for the source of Falon'Din's lyrium. I took Senris as a backup. I try to come back so soon that you'll never see this note. I'm sorry."
> 
> Roshan and Senris search for lyrium.
> 
> NSFW.

Roshan wiped sweat off her brow and cursed. Her legs ached, and she would have given much for a cold bath. Stars, she hated the northern jungles. They had spent better part of three weeks combing through the border zone, trying to find Falon'Din's source of lyrium.   
In Ghilannain's tower, Vunora had told Roshan that Natha had found something beneath the surface in the Nameless Lands, and it had changed her. Lyrium. Using Senris' knowledge of troop movements, he and Roshan had been able to narrow the search area to a newly acquired region where Falon'Din's troops had pushed harder than elsewhere, resulting in somewhat larger losses than normally.  
“Are you certain about the direction?”, Senris asked. He had tied a shirt over his head, and sweat glistened on his shoulders. It was distracting. He had a very nice, tanned skin for someone so old –   
Roshan blinked, feeling alarmed. Since when she had ogled Senris?  
Gods, Dirthamen. She felt terrible leaving like him this, but they didn't have a secure network to pass confidential messages. He had offered to bind some of his slaves with an oath of silence, but after what had happened to Inolan, Roshan was not willing to have their deaths on her conscience. She knew he would not hesitate to kill someone he perceived as a leak, so it was better to do without. And originally, their separation would not have been so long.  
Dirthamen was in still Arlathan, trying to convince other Evanuris to side with the peace treaty, while Roshan was supposed to wait and hide in Mananor. She had told Daern'thal, and left a note on Dirthamen's pillow in case she did not get back before Dirthamen did. It was highly unlikely, since his return hinged on Falon'Din's big reveal, and Roshan was out to spoil it.  
Senris was looking at her questioningly, clearly waiting for an answer. Clearing her throat, Roshan gathered her thoughts.  
“Yes. The song is clearly coming from west, and getting stronger by minute.”  
“Good. The map shows there is a valley just behind the hill. Get going, Lavellan.”, Senris commanded and started jogging.  
Grudgingly, Roshan picked up the speed and followed him.

There was no valley. There was a lake.  
“Well. This complicates things.”, Senris pursed his mouth.   
“It wasn't on your map?”, Roshan asked.  
“No.”  
“I find it doubtful that my lord would have been content with just a new lake as a security measure.”, Roshan said, kneeling down to cast simple spell on the water. Senris noticed her slip, but said nothing.  
They both watched as the poison detection spell came out clear.  
“Something nasty, then.”, Roshan decided. She moved her weight from one leg to another, considering whether she should mention it, but then decided that withholding information from Senris might prove fatal. If he didn't kill her, the mission might kill him, or them both.  
“However, there were few strands of identification- and blood magic in the water.”, she added.  
“Likely a spell to tell friend from foe.”, Senris nodded. He watched the lake with narrowed eyes, and then took his backpack off. Digging inside, he took out a ham sandwich and then threw it in the water with a flick of wrist. The sandwich jumped on the surface twice, making little splashes, and on third, a huge shadow appeared beneath surface. In front of Roshan's eyes, a bubble of air rose upwards, breaking the surface only briefly. The worst thing was that it was not empty. She saw a glimpse of huge, monstrous spider inside the bubble and hoped she had not. But when the bubble sank under surface again, she looked at Senris, whose expression was solemn as always.  
“Please tell me we are not swimming through a spider-infested lake to look for an entrance.”, Roshan said miserably.  
“Good thing I ordered the last shipment of uniform armours fitted with weight deduction spell.”, Senris replied in deadpan voice.

–-

Dirthamen had forgotten how boring work-related parties could be. He was stuck in the center of the room in Falon'Din's city estate, making up lies about his recent disappearance to group of influential nobles. The only reason why he still remained in the city was Falon'Din, who kept dropping hints about great reveal to come. His brother stubbornly refused to tell him details, so Dirthamen was forced to figure out the secret on his own. So far, his progress had been minimal and it annoyed him. This was not how he had planned to spend his honeymoon. He wanted to go home.  
“..so pleased if you honoured our spring fête with your presence..”  
Suddenly Fear appeared out of air, manifesting next to Dirthamen. The nobles murmured in surprise. The demon raven didn't care about them. It perched on Dirthamen's shoulder. The talons gripped his flesh uncomfortably, and Dirthamen made a mental note of telling his valet to reinforce the fabric.  
“Watch.”, the bird croaked ominously. “Fear.”   
It was that exact moment when the marriage bond resting quietly in Dirthamen's mind suddenly woke up with a sharp stab of pain. It radiated through bond, and then it rapidly was buried by… thrill? What in the Void his wife was doing?  
“A secret.”, Fear croaked, and dipped it's beak in Dirthamen's glass of wine. A tiny reflection formed on surface. There were two tiny figures running from… Were they under ground? In a Something bright was blooming behind them. It looked like explosion. Dirthamen squinted, glaring at his glass.  
It was painfully obvious who the shorter figure was – he could still feel the stinging bruise on her ribs, thank you very much - , but he wanted to know who the other one was. It would speed matters, because Dirthamen was going to have him killed. There were several good reasons. First, he could not very well kill his own wife for coming up with stupid idea of breaking into somewhere she clearly had no business being, so a scapegoat was required. Secondly, the fellow was clearly not paying any attention to Roshan's safety, leaving her to defend herself. He made a mental note to buy her an armour. Thirdly - Dirthamen felt his stomach flip suddenly, and he quickly raised a hand over his mouth. Stars.   
On the surface of his glass, a tiny figure of a woman whirled over a gaping gorge, flipping somersaults as arrows filled the air, and the taller one followed the example. His helmet fell, revealing his face.  
It was all Dirthamen wanted to see. He dropped the glass on the floor, watching it break in thousand little pieces, and stalked away to find his father.

–-

The mine was almost exhausted. There were empty crates piled against the walls, but no lyrium veins. It didn't matter, because Roshan and Senris could follow the hollow tracks left in stone walls. The song was different here. Sad, and weak. Full of death.  


“Something is wrong here.”, Senris said.  
“The ground stinks of blood.”, Roshan said, feeling anger which was not hers. “This was a nest before two-legged ones came.”  
Senris gave her a slow look.  
“I meant that the resistance we have encountered is mostly Ghilan'nain's servants. I would have expected Falon'Din's people. Your former lord does not strike me as a person who would willingly share power.”  
“There is not much left. They have taken everything. Even the little ones.”, Roshan said, nodding towards the west. “A dragon would have kept her eggs and hatchlings there.”  
_He always takes the little ones,_ the dragon inside her whispered chillingly.   
Ignoring the other side of herself, Roshan lifted up her sword and pointed at the metal doors on the northern end of the cave. They were forged, and there was an eluvian placed next to doorway.  
“What lyrium is left, is kept there, and that is where you will find Falon'Din's forces.”, she said. “Let's go.”

\--

“Who's grandpapae's little moonbeam? Who's the brightest little moonbeam?”, Elgar'nan was bouncing Falon'Din's baby on his knee. This was the best party ever. Elgar'nan was having such a good time. No need to dance, or talk with boring people, or even argue with Falon'Din. No, they were on good terms because Falon'Din had actually asked him to babysit, and Elgar'nan had gladly accepted. It was so _nice_ to have living grandchildren, finally. When the peace treaty was signed, there would surely be more babies. Maybe the next one would even be a girl. Elgar'nan was hopeful. He made a silly face at Tarlin, who started to giggle, revealing pink gums.   
“Father.”, Dirthamen hissed behind his shoulder. “If you don't recall Senris at once, I will have him killed for endangering the peace treaty.”  
Elgar'nan sighed. Children. Why the twins had to take turns being a pain in the ass and spoiling his fun? They had worked out a rotation thousands of years ago, and it never seemed to end.  
He looked at Dirthamen, who glared at him, and then pulled a communication crystal from his pocket. Giving it a few turns, he waited the glow on the stone to turn from white into rose, and then he said:  
“Senris. Stop whatever you are doing and come here immediately.”  
The background noise seemed a bit odd – it sounded like a dragon roaring – but Elgar'nan closed the crystal before Senris could answer. Then he put the crystal back in his pocket.  
“It's done. Go away.”, he informed his younger son and turned his attention back to his grandchild, who was much better company.   
“One little elf went to Arlathan, over the mountains and far away… Two little elves went to--”

\--

Roshan had known that breaking into Falon'Din's secret mine would mean killing people she knew. She moved forwards, parrying a hit from one of the women whom she remembered from the temple. Mirena had always been easy to smile. She liked soups, and had been kind to Roshan during the years she had lived in the temple kitchen. She was a good solider, but no match to an Unfallen. Roshan kicked her feet from under her, leaving her no time to get up. She stabbed her sword down, impaling Mirena's throat, and stepped on her to pull her weapon free.  
“She was the last one.”, Senris said calmly, looking around. They were surrounded by fresh corpses.  
“Good.”, Roshan said. Her mouth tasted like ash. The song was mournful, and it did nothing to improve her mood. Why all this had happened to her? Why she had ever entangled with the Evanuris, or Nameless Ones? But then… Would it have been any different if she had stayed among Unfallen? Their victories were bought with blood of others. Maybe the same could be said of all victories, Roshan thought darkly, and pushed the bloody palm of her hand against the doors.

“A dragon?”, Senris' voice betrayed his surprise.   
It was indeed a high dragon. It was chained on the floor, and there was a complicated apparatus of glass tubes and vials sealed behind a barrier field. Roshan stared at the sight, and felt unwell. Falon'Din was harvesting lyrium from a living dragon. It was work of a sick mind. Likely Ghilan'nain, the sensible part of her supplied. There were.. instruments on the side tables. More commonly used in pursuit of pleasure than the pain. She felt bile rising in her throat, and she put hands on her mouth, trying not to vomit. It all made sense – dragons only produced lyrium if they was happy, or aroused, or… Stars, how long and hard they would have keep going to see even a drop of lyrium from a poor dragon whose progeny and drakes were killed?   
The great beast opened her eyes.   
“Sister.”, the dragon whispered in the language of those who speak.  
Luckily, the sound was buried under the loud chirping coming from Senris' direction. Roshan turned around to see him pull out a pulsing communication crystal under his breastplate. Those things were horrendously expensive, and illegal. It took so much blood to create a permanent messaging spell that even Falon'Din didn't think it reasonable to have them.  
““Senris. Stop whatever you are doing and come here immediately.”, Elgar'nan's voice echoed in the chamber. The message ended abruptly. Senris put the crystal away, sheathed his sword and started to walk towards the mine entrance.  
“Where are you going?”, Roshan was shocked. “He didn't even tell you why! Senris! We have not finished the mission! Senris! You fucking idiot! Come back!”  
He did not even turn to look back.

She was still trying to decide whether she should run after Senris - to make him come back or to stab him, that was the hard question -, when the dragon spoke again.  
“Run away, little sister.”, the dragon whispered. “These are bad people. They killed my mates, and my children, and they will kill you too if you stay.”  
“No.”, Roshan shook her head. “I won't leave you.”  
“You should go, truly. Look.”, the dragon said weakly.

There were diagrams attached to a wall over a workbench. Roshan went over to study them. She stared at the charts, unable to find words to describe what she felt. The cold clinical enthusiasm of Ghilan'nain's notes was worst. The woman did not take joy in other's pain, but it had no meaning to her either. There were monsters more frightening than Falon'Din. Falon'Din, at least, cared enough to feel something.  
Roshan looked at various tubes and needles inserted inside dragon's body, still transferring blood and lyrium into Ghilan'nain's containers, and she felt sick to her stomach. Walking closer, she stroked the dimmed scales of the dragon to give her what little comfort she could. She had been bright blue and yellow once, Roshan thought, but all colour had bled out. The dragon's skin felt like parchment, too thin and papery, and hot with inflammation.  
There were noises coming from the corridor, and Roshan knew Falon'Din's reinforcements were on their way. She could not leave the dragon here. She had seen the diagrams.  
“You are right. They would cut out my heart, and yours too.”, the dragon whispered. With painstaking slowness, she moved her great tail, sheltering Roshan in the crook of it.   
“I can't do much, but I have strength for one last strike before I die here.”  
Roshan wiped her tears away with angry gesture, and looked at the ceiling. There were fractures on it, likely caused by dragon's earlier attempts to fight her capturers.   
“No.”, she said, feeling her form starting to shimmer. “I will take you home.”  
Then the anger took over, and Roshan was lost in dragon's fury.

Her anger burned so bright, and she breathed it out with a roar. The flames erupted from her mouth, and the glass sticking out from Sister's flesh shattered, starting to melt. She swung her tail, upending the table of blood and lyrium. The sound of breaking glass was good, but it was not enough. She roared again, and the ruined form of her sister bathed in golden and red flames. The chains holding Sister shone white-hot, and the Sister wept as she rose on shaking knees and the metal broke off.  
“Hold off the two-legged ones.”, she commanded in the language of those who speak, and Sister obeyed. There was glint of vengeance burning in Sister's eye as she turned to face the two-legged ones running towards the chamber doorway.   
The room was too small for the Sister to take wing, but not for her. Her wings were not nearly as large, and she beat air frantically, sending the two-legged ones flying backwards. Her back hit the ceiling with smash, and pain bloomed through her spine. But she dropped down, and shot up, hitting the ceiling over and over again until stone broke and cool water rushed over her bruised back. The nasty eight-legged ones, fat with stolen lyrium, fell over her, too, and she bit the ones closest to her, spitting the corpses out.  
“Come!”, she roared at her sister as the room filled with water. The two-legged ones were screaming and running in panic. She thought she had known some of them, once, but the dragon did not care. Her sister was struggling to swim, but her legs were too damaged to move properly. The Sister gave up, letting herself fall near the bottom of her prison.  
They had gotten this far. She would not give up now. She would save her, and take her home to Mother. Diving down, she offered her tail to her sister, and red-hot pain made her scream into water as Sister's teeth sank deep in her flesh. Not letting herself stop, the dragon's muscles rippled under her golden scales as she started to swam upwards to the surface. Her lungs were burning for the lack of air, and her tail hurt so bad she thought it would fall off, and somewhere under all this the dragon could feel her mate's panic building up through bond, but she had no words to answer him. She kicked with her legs, and stroked with her wings, and rushed through the dim light shining above. Always up. Always forwards. Faster. Faster.

\--

Senris sat on the tree, watching the quiet lake. He felt a prick in his conscience, wondering if he should have stayed, but he squished the doubt. His first, his only duty was to his lord. He had found out the information he needed; helping a Nameless to steal from another Evanuris would have stretched his vows too far. But still… It would not be unseemly to stay a bit longer. If Lavellan got killed, his lord would like to know.  
Suddenly the calm surface was gone. A vortex was forming in the centre of the lake, and the eye was right above Falon'Din's lyrium mine. Quickly, Senris pulled a set of enchanted lenses from his backpack, but then something broke through the surface. It was golden, and water glistened from wet scales.  
Senris stood up in his branch and watched with awe how a dragon's upper body rose from the lake. The wings spread wide, and began to beat the air. It was not gaining height like it should, and the reason to it's strained efforts became soon apparent. Another, much larger dragon was hanging from it's tail, claws sunk in golden dragon's flesh.  
A dark, foreboding circle appeared in the air few meters above them. It was nothing but swirling shadows of black and white, but both dragons fought desperately to get there. The golden one tried, but the large dragon with faded blue scales was pulling it down. The blue one screamed with disappointment and terror, when they sank downwards. It tried to fly, but it's wings were too damaged. There were large pieces missing. The golden one still fought, and Senris could see the tell-tale glow of blood magic spell in action. Lavellan. Senris watched their desperate fight, and he couldn't help but to shout:  
“Keep going!”, he shouted, his voice carrying over the water. “Pull more power, and go!”  
He knew the words were terribly treasonous the moment they left his lips, but the dragon heard him. With one last attempt, it drew more power from the blood and rushed upwards. The scaled head surged forwards, and the wings beat the air, and the damaged blue dragon tried to do the same.   
The golden dragon's head barely touched the edge of swirling shadows, and then the shadows reached back at her. There was no flash of colour, or light, more the opposite. The blue sky seemed colourless and grey, and there was no light, when the magic pulled dragons inside. They were gone, and only thing which remained was a grey scar in the heaven which lasted for few seconds before disappearing.  
Senris watched it vanish, and then he sighed. It was time to go back to his lord and report what he had learned. Damn that girl. They should have recruited her years ago for Elgar'nan's army.

 

\--

 

She crashed on the cold snow of the Void, spent and hurt and heart-sore. Sister fell on her, and she screamed when her back leg snapped under Sister's weight. She thought she was going to suffocate, because Sister was not moving, and she did not have strength to push her off. She wept and wailed, but Sister would not roll off.  
Then the help came. The weight was pulled off her, and she smelled Anaris' familiar scent of fire and brimstone. But he was extremely upset, screaming and shouting in the language of those who speak.  
She called for her own drakes, but they didn't come. Nobody helped her, and she was hurting. Wailing, she sank her snout in the snow, and decided that she might as well die here, because _nobody_ cared about her.

She was still sulking in the snow, when she heard someone coming closer to her. She peeked a bit behind her closed eyelids, and saw the largest shadow falling on her, but stubbornly decided to keep her eyes closed. She was going to die in snow, because her tail _hurt_ , and nobody was soothing her with kisses. Anaris was licking Sister's wounds and kissing them better, and fussing over her in panic, while nobody cared about her. She had done all the work! It was unfair.  
“Little drama queen.”, mother said fondly, and laid down on the ground next to her. Mother opened her great red wings, and she sneaked under one, making a pitiful little noises of hurt as she crawled to mother's side, favouring her broken leg.  
“It hurts.”, she wailed.  
“I know, dearest. You were very brave.”, mother said soothingly, and hid her under the wing. It was warm there, and dark, and she suddenly felt very sleepy.  
“My drakes are the stupidest.”, she whined, still sulking. Her eyelids felt heavy, and mother's magic was mending her hurts, but she would have liked kisses better.  
Mother laughed, and it was good and booming sound which drowned the upset noises Anaris' was making.   
“I think you are much smarter as a little dragon than an elf.”, mother said with warm amusement, and pushed her snout under the wing to snuggle her.   
She was a way too tired to comprehend what exactly mother was meaning, but obviously mother thought that she was the smartest little dragon, and the praise comforted her insulted feelings. She saw a spark of blue magic flashing in the soft dark under mother's wing when mother stroked her torn scales, singing to her. The sound of mother's singing was making her so tired, and she fell asleep well before the song was finished.

She slept under mother's wing for a long time, while mother sang spell-songs and healed her broken leg, and the deep marks on her tail and back. There were older scars inside her body, and mother healed them too. Spring turned into summer, and grass died and withered as snow covered the ground, but she barely noticed the passing of seasons. She spent long time sleeping, or dizzily awake, catching bits and pieces of Mother talking with Anaris, Sister or the two-legged male which made her nervous. He tried to sleep in Mother's bed sometimes when Mother was in her weak form, and she hissed furiously at him until he went away. She wanted no strange two-legged males near them. They were dangerous and unpredictable. Once she ignited his coat-tails with her breath, because he would not go away, and it was funny when he started to yell and jump oddly put them out. Mother laughed, and she beamed with pride.

Her magic was still exhausted, and she was badly frightened. It was hard to understand what had happened to Sister, but Sister had almost died, Mother explained gravelly. The two-legged ones had stuck her full of needles and tubes and evil machines to steal her essence. She couldn't understand how anyone would do such an evil thing to a dragon, and Anaris didn't understand either, because he started to rave and shout every time Sister's imprisonment was mentioned. He went on and on until Mother told him to shut up and go tend Sister. It had been winter, and now it was autumn again.

“They had ugly drawings in Sister's prison.”, she told Mother one summer evening when Mother had woken her up to eat a freshly killed goat. Her belly was nicely full as she crawled back under Mother's wing. It was safe and warm there and her stupid drakes were still somewhere else.  
“What kind of drawings?”, Mother asked, licking her scales clean with her forked tongue. It was a bit iffy, but the scales itched as they healed and regrew, so she decided to put up with it.  
“Evil drawings. They wanted to cut Sister's heart out and put it inside a ball.”, she whispered nervously. “The ball was called..”, she searched her mind. It was hard to recall proper words in two-legged language. “It was called a foci. Falon'Din's foci.”   
Anger rolled off mother in waves.  
“I keep hearing his name every time my children suffer. This has gone on far too long. Falon'Din will be dealt with when Mythal comes to offer tributes.”  
“All right.”, she said, yawning, and slept again.

As she slept, she grew, larger and larger. She was still nowhere as large as Mother or Sister, but too large to fit comfortably under Mother's wing. Then one day Mother said that she was too old to sleep there, now, and she had to find another place for herself.  
“But other places are not safe.”, she sulked. “I don't want to sleep anywhere else. I want to sleep with you.”  
Mother sighed and rolled her eyes.  
“This is children for you. First you wanted nothing to do with me, and now I have to throw you out from nest. You really are a piece of work, daughter.”  
“I don't want to be alone.”, she glared at Mother. “You are mean.”  
“I will remind you of this when you change forms and get back your senses.”, Mother said cryptically and pushed her rudely out from the nest. “I need to have some time alone with Solas. Go away.”  
“I will make a nest of my own, and it will be much nicer than yours, and you will feel sorry!”, she screamed at Mother's closed door. Behind it, she could hear mother laugh, and it only made her feel angrier.  
“Go on rampage if you wish.”, was only answer she got, and then the stupid two-leg slipped inside Mother's nest and they wouldn't let her in. She stayed a while, but when it became obvious they were mating, she lost her interest and left.

Sulking, she stomped out from the nest, hissing at Anaris and Stupid Sister because they and their stupid hatchlings were not taking her side in the argument. No, it was worse.  
“You are old enough to have eggs of your own.”, Sister said in infuriating manner. “You can't sleep with Mother. If you don't want to sleep alone, get drakes.”  
“I have them, but they don't come when I call!”, she snapped.  
Anaris snorted, and exchanged glances with Sister.  
“Don't you dare to laugh at me!”, she hissed, stomping the ground with her tail.  
“Little Sister, if you left them outside Void, they can't hear you. You have to bring them here through a portal.”, the Sister said patiently. “Or you could build a nest, and then bring drakes in. Just be certain to pick a safe place for your young. The world outside is dangerous.”  
“If you are going to construct a nest, you should pick up a durgen'len.”, Anaris advised. “I doubt your Evanuris is handy with tools.”  
She huffed unhappily.   
“You all are mean! I'm leaving the nest, and you all will feel sorry when I'm gone!”, she announced and stomped outside.

The day was pretty, and the sky was pale spring blue. It cheered her up a bit. She tested her wings tentatively, and noticed the span had grown much while she slept. It only took two beats to lift her off the ground, and it felt glorious to glide through air.  
Her magic had recovered, and she decided it might be a good idea to find her unsatisfactory drakes or get new, better ones. Also, she was hungry, and she doubted Mother would get her more goats to eat. Making up her mind, she created a portal out from the Void and flew through it.

 

The area where she landed was mountain region with lots of sheep and lush, green grass. She chased a panicked herd over narrow mountain passages and ate the two slowest ones, and then the fastest one just to find out if it tasted better. It did. The two-legged marked elves had ran away at first sight of her, and there was some part of her which was unwilling to eat or kill them, so it was good.

She settled on a sunny spot on the top of the mountain, too high for elves to climb, and had a nice siesta. But she had slept enough, and quite soon her stomach was rumbling empty again, so she decided to search for more food.

There was a village down the mountain which had tasty goats, and she grabbed one in her jaws as she dove down on the pasture. Tattooed two-legged ones screamed and ran all directions when she flew into their village, and she thought it was quite amusing to send them running. They behaved just like the sheep! She chased the funny villagers for a while, but the goat was getting cold and she liked her meals warm, so she left to eat her prey in peace.

Soon she became bored with taste of goats and sheep and occasional cow. The cows were only thing which kept her hunger at bay longer than a day, and the two-legged ones were getting annoying. They knew to expect her, now, and they tried to frighten her away from food with loud noises and flashes of magic. She was not afraid, because they never actually hurt her, but it was still annoying.   
“Please leave us alone, O Sacred Beast!”, a finely dressed two-legged one pleaded while she ate.   
“It's third sheep this week!”, an upset male howled. “Our lord can't allow this to go on, sacred animals or not!”  
She snorted, and set their stack of hay in fire as a farewell gift. Clearly it was time to look for a new hunting ground.

One day she happened to fly across a mountain range and saw a white, pretty stone city which smelled interesting. The people there were much better dressed than elsewhere, and there were three dozen alpacas grazing the pasture in front of a grand palace on the edge of the city. She had never tasted an alpaca before, and these ones looked especially healthy and well-cared. Tasty. She could feel her mouth water as she circled the city, watching them.   
A part of her wondered who would put alpacas here when she had not seen them anywhere else in the region, and the shepherds she had seen were not usually so well-dressed. Usually, the herds were kept in uglier parts of villagers, not in front of gilded golden houses. Feeling suspicious, she made a few rounds over the palace and then retreated to abandoned watchtower site where she currently slept.

She caught a few sheep from another village for a snack, but they didn't taste good. She wanted to try an alpaca, and even the plump, juicy sheep weren't any good. She sulked as she spat the bones down the mountain. But something about the alpacas didn't add up. Maybe, she considered, it would be better to go back when dark fell, and the fancy shepherds were asleep. Just a quick dive down, grab an alpaca, and fly off with it. Yes.

So she waited until it was dark, and then flew back to city, making sure to stay behind the mountains to avoid being seen. The pretty white stone city was still there on the top of the mountain with gilded palace and the tasty alpacas. There was no sign of fancy shepherds now, she noticed as she laid flat on the nearest mountainside, careful to keep herself down wind. There was no guards, either, just a big fallen tree in the middle of the herd. She licked her teeth with forked tongue, and her hunger grew harder as she tasted the scent of prey in the wind. Tensing her muscles, she rose, and shot herself on the sky with powerful beat of her wings. Within seconds, she was high among the clouds, and the wind whistled in her ears as she turned towards the palace.

The herd of alpacas broke in chaos as she dove down through the clouds, bleating loudly in panic. She caught a black one in her jaws, and bit down to kill it. The meat was lean, tender and almost sweet. Ah, lovely. She rattled her prey to make sure it was dead, and then prepared to take off, but suddenly something wet landed on her scales. It burned.  
She turned around to see what dared to spit on her, and came face to face with a monster she had never seen before. It was a creature fashioned from the fallen tree in the middle of the pasture. It had five legs and rocky carapace, but no eyes. It moved very fast towards her, spitting at her again. It was insulting, and she screamed at it, breathing flames on the creature. Unfortunately, she dropped her meal in the process, but the wood monster was already on her, delivering a vicious strike of claws which cut sharply through her scales. She repaid it with a swish of her tail strong enough to break creature's limb.

It took some effort to kill the creature. It was strange and foreign, and all too fast in her opinion, and she was a bit out of breath when she finally crushed the stupid carapace between her jaws. Huffing with annoyance, she turned back to pick up her meal and leave. The alpaca was getting cold, and she decided to have a snack before she left. It would serve the fancy elves right to clean after her.

She was halfway through her meal, when something wet and burning landed on her tail. Turning around, she saw the bloody creature getting up again, all hale and healthy like she had not killed it a moment ago. Bloody annoying! Dropping the alpaca down again, she set the stupid tree creature in fire and proceeded to batter it into pieces.

After she killed the creature for fourth time, she decided it was unlikely she was going to finish her meal, and her prey was all cold now. She could have gotten a new one, but the herd was scattered, and if she lingered any longer, the stupid creature would rise from the dead and spit on her again. Even if it healed while dead, she did not, and the spots where acid had landed were stinging. This was worst feeding spot ever. Stupid city, and stupid fancy elves with their stupid tree beasts and fancy alpacas. Shitty upper-class people. She was not entirely sure what upper class meant, or how she remembered it, but she didn't care.

There was movement inside the palace, many voices shouting, but she ignored them. A group of fancy elves was hurrying outside, likely to bother her. Just more trouble. She spat on the dead varterral, and stomped on it to make sure it stayed dead long enough for her to leave. The creaking sound of breaking wood was satisfying even if she knew the broken limbs would not stick any better than death.  
The elves were running towards her, now, and a tall man wearing dark robes broke from the group.  
“Stop!”, he commanded, and glared at her with purple eyes, clearly expecting her to obey. Since when she had obeyed fancy two-legged creatures? She was a dragon, the ruler of the skies, and no subject to two-legged males in pretty robes. She glared right back, and then took the dead alpaca in her jaws and flung the bloody, half-eaten corpse at him. Ha! That served him right for constructing a trap. Then she took flight and left the stupid palace.

 

She was just wondering whether to go back to her lair or get something to eat, when she sensed a surge of magic below, and a grey drake broke through the clouds. Her eyes widened: oh, he was glorious. She stared at him with wonderment, and when her gaze settled on silvery scar on his dark grey skin, she felt warmth spreading inside her body. It was _him_. Her drake was finally here.  
“I didn't remember you were so handsome.”, she sighed happily, beaming at him.   
He didn't appreciate it.  
“Where have you been, Roshan?”, he demanded angrily in two-legged words which were hard for her to understand. “Get down this instant!”  
“What did you call me? Why didn't you come when Sister almost bit my tail off!”, she was hurt by his sudden, undeserved anger.   
“You left me a crappy note on a pillow and vanished for ninety-seven years!”, he yelled, switching to language of those who speak.  
“I did not!”, she was starting to get upset. “I don't understand what you mean. You have been lost, and now you are not, and everything is all right. Stop saying odd things and come eat sheep with me. I know a good spot. Everything feels better with full stomach.”  
Her drake groaned. She was fairly sure that the sound was not meant that way, but the low growl made her bones vibrate with excitement and her back scales deepened in colour, taking a rosy tinge. Her drake stared at her reaction, and then changed tactics.   
“If you come with me, love, I know a much better place to hunt.”, he cooed, circling around her in the air. “It is a good lair, pretty and soft, filled with plenty of food.”  
“Soft like Mother's nest?”, she asked excitedly. “She has the softest nest. It's filled with straw.”  
“Better.”, her drake promised. “Ours is filled with down of swans. Much nicer than straw. It is soft like a kiss.”  
“Really?”, she scarcely could believe him, but he seemed very sure of it.  
“Yes, gaidhalas.”, he flew so close to her that their scales almost brushed. “I would cover you with kisses, and you could sleep there, and I have everything ready. There is no need to hunt for sheep, there is food in the lair. All I need is you.”  
She shuddered as his voice dropped.  
“What gaidhalas means?”, she asked uncertainly.  
“It is what I always call you when we mate .”, he replied, circling in the air. “Come, gaidhalas. Follow me.”  
  
The lair was pretty, but it was entirely too small. It was not a cave, but a small cabin, built on a secluded meadow near a sparkling mountain lake. The view down was pretty, and she liked being on the top of the world, but there was nowhere to shelter from rain and wind and annoying wood monsters.  
“It's here, love.”, her drake announced.  
“This nest is for two-legged creatures. It's entirely too small. Eggs might fit inside, but I can't.”, she said with heavy disappointment.   
“But it's much more secure that way. You could change your form, and fit inside, and nobody would know it's a dragon's lair. Any predators would think it is a dwelling for two-legged elf, and go away.”, her drake argued.  
She considered it. She didn't want to be small and puny two-legged elf, but he had a point.   
“It would be safer for hatchlings.”, she admitted. “They killed all the drakes and hatchlings in Sister's lair, and almost killed Sister, too, with needles and tubes they stuck inside her. Only Anaris and his eggs were left, and he was always her third drake. Not favoured. I need to think about this.”  
“As you wish.”, her drake said. “The nights are still cold, and I'm going inside. Will you join me?”  
His form shimmered, and he turned into two-legged elf, the one she had flung an alpaca at. He didn't look nearly as handsome without scales. He was too small and soft, and she was fairly certain that she would accidentally kill him if they tried to mate.  


“I don't think so.”, she said, swallowing her disappointment. “I think I will rest at the lake for a while, and look for a better lair in the morning.”  
Even though his hands were small and soft, they were warm as he stroked her scales.  
“You should come inside with me.”, he said. “I would like to hold you.”  
“I can't fit in.”, she sniffed. “And if I tried to mate with you now, you would die.”  
He flashed a smile in strangely familiar manner, which made her heart skip a beat.  
“It's very likely, and terrible shame it would be. But your smaller form is very pretty, too.”  
“I don't think so.”, she said doubtfully. “It can't fly, and two-legged forms are so squishy.”  
“But then you could fit inside the lair.”, he said, kissing the scales on her side. It felt tingly. “I could kiss you properly, without you biting my head off. There are many advantages to smaller, softer forms.”  
She was still unsure, but he would not give up.  
“Please, gaidhalas. I would like it.”, his drake pleaded sweetly, and she heaved a sigh.  
“All right, then.”, she said grudgingly. “Step back. I'm not certain how this goes.”

When the bond in his mind woke up from decades long slumber, he knew she was herself again.

–

 

“Where were you? And why you are still wearing father's uniform?”, Dirthamen tried to peel off the annoying jacket which was buttoned up all way to her throat. Losing his patience, he used magic to rip it open.  
“A mission--.”, Roshan tried to reply, but his mouth was sucking her neck, now, hard enough to light a fire inside her. Stars, it felt wonderful when he pressed his body against her. The tight-fitting trousers he wore did justice to his fine ass, and she couldn’t help but ran her hands over it.   
He groaned, and attempted to push the door to the cabin open, but it wouldn't budge. Dirthamen tried again, this time giving it a harder shove with added magic, but the door remained stubbornly shut. Only the wards flashed at them.  
“Where the fuck is the key when I need it?”, he cursed, slipping his fingers in her hair and kissing her deep. She tasted like – well, it was best if he didn't think what she tasted like, considering what he knew of her recent rampage through the mountain region of his kingdom. She was here, finally, and it was what mattered.  
“Don't break the door.”, Roshan said, her face flushed with blush. “We can look for the key in the morning and sleep in the shed like Felassan did when he lived here.”

The shed was not to Dirthamen's liking.  
“You expect me to climb a rope?”, Dirthamen growled in frustration as he looked up and saw a length of knotted rope dangling from a hole in the ceiling. “Only use for rope, gaidhalas, is to tie you down in bed so I can keep you there longer than a few pitiful months.”  
He cast a spell, pushing them both up through a hole, and slamming the trapdoor shut after them.   
“Where is the bed?”, he asked, slipping his fingers under the waistband of her trousers and ripping the side seam open with magic. Pulling clothes down was too slow. He had waited a hundred years – he would burst and die if this took much longer.   
Roshan laughed.   
“You are not going to like this, vhenan.”, she warned, pulling the shirt off his shoulders.   
“If it’s rickety, terrible camp bed –“, Dirthamen began, but then he spied a simple bedroll spread on the hard floor. There was only one pillow, and it looked lumpy.   
“Oh, fenedhis lasa.”, he almost howled in frustration, and she laughed harder, not stopping until he kissed her. Calling upon more magic, Dirthamen imagined the fluffiest bed imaginable, and forced his vision to manifest in waking world. It filled over half of the room, and hid the trapdoor as well. It was a good thing. He felled them both on bed, throwing Roshan’s boots over his shoulder. They hit the wooden wall with a smack.   
“You are impatient.”, she said, sinking her fingers in his hair.  
“Do you know last time I had sex? Before you left.”, Dirthamen raised his head for only a moment before turning his focus back to trailing his mouth down on her breasts. Still lovely, he confirmed, and the thought sent terribly uncomfortable pulse of arousal through his body. As if he needed more.   
“Almost a hundred years? You?”, Roshan sounded genuinely doubtful.  
“Yes!”, Dirthamen exclaimed. His fingers slipped between her legs, finding her wet and ready. Wasting no time, he pushed in.  
“It was—“  
“—easily the worst and—“  
“—the most frustrating—“  
“—century I can— “  
“recall after puberty.”, Dirthamen finished weakly, falling over her like a limp rag, relieved and spent. It was embarrassing and not very polite, he knew, but she didn’t seem to mind.   
“My poor love.”, she said, shaking her head.   
“I will do better for you. I just need a moment. I needed you.”, Dirthamen whispered, holding his eyes closed and breathing the scent of sex and warm skin and revelling in sheer relief of being inside her.   
“I know.”, Roshan said, and the softness in her voice made him think that she truly understood. Her fingers drew small patterns on his back. She wrapped her legs around his, and they stayed that way, joined, until it got cold in the draughty shed.

  
Dirthamen had never thought Elgar’nan’s military uniform could look so good on someone. But the red sash stating the rank of a general did serve well to tie Roshan’s hands to headboard of Dirthamen’s new bed. It was exact shade of new bruise his lips had left on her pale neck, and Dirthamen appreciated the aesthetics. He hummed, finalizing the knots so they would not chafe, and then knelt between her legs.

He had meant what he had promised, and now he delivered. She wiggled her hips in building desperation, trying to avoid his wandering fingers. She was slick with his seed, and her own wetness, and almost as hard as he had been. Dirthamen was taking his time, making her squirm.   
“Vhenan—“, her cheeks were flushed, and her breathing was rapid. Her breasts looked lovely with the now buttonless military jacket Dirthamen had not yet thrown away.   
“We really need to talk about lyrium and Falon'Din's—Ohh!“, she cried out, arching as his fingers slipped into her ass. Dirthamen smiled a predatory smile.   
“You are so sweet when you squirm, love.”, Dirthamen whispered in her ear, nibbling the earlobe. “I think you like this.”  
She was crimson now, furiously blushed, but she was opening her legs wider.  
“I meant I truly should go—“, she tried, but there was no force behind her words.  
“Go? You just left me for over hundred years. You are bucking against my fingers, Roshan.”, he said with fake disapproval. “Do you truly wish to discuss my brother now? Or go somewhere else?”  
“Please, vhenan.”, she whispered, and Dirthamen lifted her leg up against his shoulder, angling himself just right. Her eyes widened as she felt a ghostly pressure against her ass. It was illusion, mostly, but for Dreamer mage, illusions were real enough. Roshan emitted a sudden moan which ended in needy whimper when he thrust inside her, filling her fuller than before. She bit his shoulder in desperate attempt to be quiet, shivering almost feverishly.  
<The walls here are hardly thicker than paper.>, her voice returned into his mind after years and years of silence, and it made Dirthamen almost forgive her for disappearing like that.  
<Good>, he purred, bringing his fingers on her bud. He circled his thumb over it.  
<I’m sorry.>, she told him breathlessly. <I thought that telling you would make it difficult with Falon'Din. I know you care about him.>  
<I care about my brother, yes, but you are my wife. Do you know what it felt like when the bond flooded with panic, and fear, and then you just vanished?.>  
He added more to his ghost spell, imagining kissing her neck and nipples, and thrust into her again. Her back arched unthinkingly, and it only let him in deeper. She whimpered, and Dirthamen thought she had never been as beautiful as now, open and wet and in throes of lust.   
<I should have told you, or made a back-up plan. I didn't think the mission would go wrong, and I'm so sorry. Stars, I love you, Dirthamen, please-->  
<Mine?>, he demanded, rubbing his fingers over her wet, hard nub. <Tell me you will be mine, vhenan.>  
“Yes, vhenan, only yours, always.”, the words spilled out from Roshan’s lips, and Dirthamen stopped in surprise. They were ringing true through their connection, even though her eyes were clouded with lust and people said all kinds of things on a brink of orgasm. He smiled, savouring the one moment her guard had come down, and gave her last, final push. A long, unashamed moan of lust and need escaped from her mouth, and her back arched as her muscles tensed.  
It was like watching a star explode, Dirthamen thought gently, and he held her through it all. Capturing a dragon had been best thing he had done in _years_.  
  


 

 


	21. Lavellan must die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Roshan recovered in the Void, her enemies in Elvhenan were busy. A lot can happen in ninety-seven years.
> 
> Few NSFW bits.

Mythal knew there was not much time when she heard the news. Even though Mythal's spy network was not as efficient as her younger son's, she made it her priority to stay on top of any news concerning dragons. It was said that Senris had been part of an attack in Nameless territory, and judging the foul mood of her children, Mythal believed the rumours about a golden dragon dragging another one into Void were true. She had known Falon'Din was getting lyrium somewhere, and apparently Lavellan had cut his supply off. A part of Mythal, the small part which still thought like a dragon, applauded the girl's courage, but the ruler knew there were consequences which had to be addressed immediately.

When she entered his son's personal rooms in his Arlathan estate, Falon'Din was leaving.  
“This is not a good moment, mother.”, he said with clipped tones. “I'm leaving to my temple.”  
“My issue is very important. It concerns your brother, and dragons. A family matter.”, Mythal said pointedly.  
“Ten minutes, mother.”, Falon'Din snapped, dismissing his servants.  
He sat behind a desk, pulling a drawer open with shaking hands. Mythal watched him took out a tiny vial of lyrium and down it.  
“If you use it often, I hope it is the same dragon.”, she said evenly. “Sometimes there is an adverse reaction towards lyrium produced from different dragon. Chemical adaptation makes it harder to steal one's best drakes.”  
“I'm fed up with your lizards, mother.”, Falon'Din said sharply. “If it's all you came to talk about, I could as well leave now.”  
“It is not.”, Mythal replied. “I understand you want to break free from Geldauran's rules. It has been my goal all these years, too, and I think we finally have all cards in our hands.”  
Falon'Din's expression changed.  
“Why this sudden change of opinion, mother?”, he requested. “Why would I believe you?”  
“Because your brother is not in his right mind. Do you remember when he went suddenly missing last winter, and only came back now, lobbying a peace treaty?”  
“He was doing your dirty work, bringing the sacrifices to lizards.”, Falon'Din pointed out.  
“I asked him to come back with me, but he did not. Instead, Dirthamen chose follow the slave girl into Void. He thinks he's in love with her, but it's nothing but a Nameless plot. He doesn't listen me.”, Mythal said.  
“Lavellan?”, Falon'Din fisted his hands.  
“Dirthamen is obsessed with the girl. She had months to work him, to get him addicted to lyrium, and now he has returned preaching the peace treaty. A peace treaty sealed with _a_ _marriage bond._ ”, Mythal finished.  
Falon'Din sighed. He leaned his elbows against the desk, rubbing his temples.  
“That fucking idiot.”, he groaned.  
“Like I said, he is not in his right mind. We have to save him before it is too late.”, Mythal crossed her hands on her lap. “Dirthamen is too far gone to understand the voice of reason, so we have to play this carefully. He would not accept help. He is hers, now. Any open hostility towards Lavellan will only drive him further from us.”  
“I should have strangled the bitch as soon as this whole thing started.”, Falon'Din's expression was turning murderous.  
“She will still serve.”, Mythal said in calming manner. “Because we are going to sign the treaty and wait. Like your brother said, Geldauran is getting old.”  
She smoothed the fabric of her dress, choosing her words carefully.  
“In my studies, I've learned that power to open the Void and command dragons is magically bound to a title. The Queen of the Void. The position has two requirements. First, she is the strongest female capable of taking dragon form, and secondly, she must kill the former queen. Sooner or later Lavellan will kill Geldauran. It is the way of dragons.”  
“I think I know where you are going. Go on.”, Falon'Din said with interest.  
“We wait until Geldauran is dead by her hand. You help me to kill Lavellan. Since she is childless, I'm her heir as the closest dragon, and I will become the queen. Your brother will be freed, and the power of dragons will be ours to take.”, Mythal finished. “I shall open the way to you and your soldiers, and you will conquer the Void, breaking our chains once and for all. You, my son, will revenge your dead sister, Dirthamen, and all the others the dragons have taken from us. Are you with me in this?”  
Falon'Din smiled.  
“It is a nice proposition, mother, but we need to speak about specific terms of my share. You wanted Lavellan years ago, too, and I told you then that she is valuable resource. A pain in the ass, for sure, but she just recently cost me a dragon, cutting off my lyrium supply and making me a fool in front of everyone. A sudden change of my mind regarding the peace treaty will not go unnoticed, so my plans must go forwards. Without lyrium, I'm forced to order a purge to create magic I promised to you in our last council. Why to kill a milking cow? Surely a Queen of the Void would produce much more and much stronger lyrium than just some general dragon.”  
Mythal did not like the direction his son's thoughts were going, so she lied.  
“Only the Queen may open the way to Void. Remember how she acted with Solas? She will never do it voluntarily. And there is the matter of your brother to consider. You have to think what is best for Dirthamen. There are more dragons in the Void, I'm certain. You may have their blood, but Lavellan must die.”  
“Very well.”, Falon'Din said lightly. “I will make noises about the peace treaty, and you bribe me with something which will give Dirthamen a reason to think I have to agree despite wanting to do otherwise. Then we will wait.”  
He stood up, offering his hand.  
“I always knew you would come through one day, mother. I'm pleased.”, Falon'Din said.  
“As am I.”, Mythal replied, ignoring the hand he offered. She pulled him into hug, instead, and felt quietly relieved. It would be all right. Her children would be safe, her daughter avenged, and she would be what she was always meant to be. The Queen of the Void.

–-

It was the eve of Falon'Din's great reveal, and Dirthamen felt like shit. Two days ago, he had woken up with horrible headache which was far worse than his usual bouts of migraine. This one felt like someone stabbed knife through his skull if he tried to move his head, and it was concentrated on dull, dead weight of the bond inside his mind. Unable to sleep or eat, Dirthamen had tried every remedy he could think of, and finally went back to Mananor in futile hope of finding his wife there. But he had found just the stupid note instead.

Cursing and almost crying, Dirthamen had laid down on her side of the bed. The sheets still had her scent, and he was too tired to move. Eventually, his headache slowly started to ebb away. The bond was still dead, and he would have screamed if it hadn't required moving the facial muscles and potentially triggering the headache back.  
He didn't know how long he had been awake in the dark, but eventually he sank into fretful sleep. Little good it did do; Dirthamen dreamed odd dreams of his world burning in raw chaos while a dark wolf stood above them all, weeping.

When Dirthamen finally woke up, the headache was gone, but he felt sore all over. Daern'thal's worried eyes stared at him from the other side of bed.  
“She promised to come back before you do. Has something happened?”  
“I don't know yet.”, Dirthamen said, his foul mood returning. “It's Senris' fault. He and Roshan tried to break into my brother's lyrium mine. Whether she succeeded, I don't know. If she returns while I'm at the party, keep her here. I have several things to say to her.”  
Daern'thal looked uncertain, but then he nodded.  
“She shouldn't leave us for so long.”, Daern'thal said. His expression brightened. “But no matter happened, she will come back before the summer ends. Roshan promised me wings on summer's last day.”  
Dirthamen considered it. Roshan generally kept her promises. He could live without her for a season, even if it was not to his liking. And it would give him enough time to get rid of Senris without Roshan interfering.  
“If she is alive, that is.”, Dirthamen said darkly. “There is something wrong with the bond.”  
Daern'thal's face fell, but he tried to remain positive.  
“I'm sure it is not the case. She will come back to us.”  
Dirthamen remembered the arrows in little reflection, and he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.  
“I must go back to Arlathan. You wait here. If she comes back, send me a word immediately.”, Dirthamen ordered instead. Still feeling sore and worried, he grumpily got up and started to get ready for Falon'Din's big reveal.

-

Dirthamen dug his fingers in the soft flesh of Senris' throat and lifted him up with magic. It felt like his blood was boiling, and he wanted to wipe the stupid neutral expression from man's face with blood. So he did just so and slammed Senris face first against the marble wall.  
“Where is she?”, he demanded.  
“I don't know, honoured one.”, Senris replied evenly. His nose was bleeding, and his face was all red, but still he didn't even attempt to run, or fight back. It only angered Dirthamen further.  
“You endangered my--”, Dirthamen yelled, only remembering just when the word was already on his lips. Unable to think a suitable alternative, he simply smashed Senris against the wall again.  
The door he had locked was rattling, and he could hear his father bellowing from the other side of the door.  
Not bothering with finesse, Dirthamen took Senris' bloody face between his hands and delved in.

A note from Roshan on his desk, slipped between Elgar'nan's daily schedule and guard roster he always reads in the afternoon. Remember to add this to things to be watchful of; the Nameless should not be aware of Senris' daily habits. Roshan appearing from the dark, making a suggestion. So they did this to her. Pity, and pride, because she pulled through. Should have been ours, bringing glory to our lord. Pleased to drop the daily grind for an adventure.  
Weeks spent in the jungle. Watching her walk before him. Her hair tied in a bun, a surprisingly accurate memory of a stray red curl hanging loose on her neck, skin glistening with sweat. Days spent in the sun. Freckles appear. Beautiful, Senris' voice whispers as water sparkles and Roshan wrestles with a giant monstrous spider. The uniform trousers are glued to her skin, and the muscles on her thighs and legs tense as she kicks the monster trying to rip her throat off. She leaps up, and the water splashes again, and the sparkles rain down like diamonds when she slashes a knife across the beady eyes.  
Fighting their way through the tunnels. The dying dragon. His lord calling. Her anxious anger asking him to stay. There was no choice. Never any choice. He would do what was right. Standing against the stone wall, flat and quiet, as the soldiers ran past him. Twenty-four in first squad. Thirty in second. There was no hope for her alone.  
Dirthamen blinked, pulling back. He wasn't finished yet, but this… Fenedhis lasa!  
“You accursed bastard!”, he spat, staring incredulously at Senris. “You are in love with her!”  
“That's enough!”, Elgar'nan's voice rang with authority, and magic pulled Senris out from Dirthamen's grip.  


They stood side by side among the other viewers as the musicians started to play, and Falon'Din began his long walk over the flowers spread on the ground. He wore a black, hooded cloak slashed with silver. His brother had always known how to put on a regal show, Dirthamen thought unhappily. His brother had requested all prisoners from Arlathan area, especially those believed to be Nameless dissidents. Dirthamen expected that the show would not be to his liking.  
“You have no business touching my servants.”, Elgar'nan hissed in low voice.  
“Your servants have no business attempting to ruin my peace treaty, or making unsanctioned attacks against Falon'Din.”, Dirthamen replied, keeping his gaze on a black tower built from obsidian. The Unfallen were herding a group of sixteen prisoners towards the entrance. Seeing the familiar armour only reminded Dirthamen about the withered bond in his mind. He wanted to ask if death felt like this, but Elgar'nan spoke angrily:  
“You should have come to me. Not act on your own accord.”  
“Everyone knows how much you trust Senris. You knew what he did in Nameless Lands, but told nobody. Last time I checked, Nameless sympathies were still punishable by death.”, Dirthamen kept his hands in his pockets, seething with jealousy.  
“If Senris dies in mysterious manner, or for any reason, I will hold you personally responsible.”, Elgar'nan threatened.  
“Hush.”, Mythal turned around, glaring at them. “Falon'Din is starting.”

His brother stood in front of the gathered elves. Even though they were in front row, Dirthamen couldn't see Falon'Din's face. The hood was too deep. Something in the air was making him feel uneasy, and it wasn't Falon'Din's dramatic antics. He was too familiar with those to let them affect him in any way. No. The air, Dirthamen understood, smelled cold despite the late spring season. Cold, and sharp, like the Void.  
Falon'Din raised his hands, and then pushed his hood back. His eyes were glowing electric, icy blue. They were like burning holes in his head, and there was no iris. Behind him, the Unfallen released the prisoners from their chains.  
“This is the face of true power.”, he said, and his voice carried over the crowd easily. “Watch, and learn.”  
He turned around, and simply looked at the prisoners standing in front of the obsidian tower. He did not gesture, or move even an inch. Falon'Din simply looked, and his eyes glowed. One by one, the prisoners turned into stone. The fourth one in the row froze in mid leap, the fifth kneeling on the ground.  
There was no surge of magic Dirthamen could feel, but he knew the source with horrifying certainty. Falon'Din had stolen the power from a dragon.

-

His mother's words had made Falon'Din worried. He had been very busy working with Ghilan'nain on lyrium, and he had no idea if Dirthamen was doing as badly as their mother claimed.

The party was going well, but Dirthamen didn't seem to be enjoying it. His brother was sprawled on divan, looking more sullen than anything else. There were three different glasses on the side table, all of them tasted but none drunk. Two of his followers stood in attendance while a brown-haired beauty – one of lady Virath’s daughters, if Falon’Din wasn’t mistaken – knelt on the floor, kissing Dirthamen’s fingers. With a sweet, promising smile, the girl reached to press her hand on Dirthamen’s thigh. A flash of frustration passed on his brother’s face, and Dirthamen made an annoyed gesture.  
“Leave.”, he said, and the girl scrambled up, hurrying away with upset look on her face.  
“No company for tonight?” Falon’Din asked.  
“They are all equally boring.” Dirthamen said. “My lord this and my lord that, can I have trinkets my lord. Not a single interesting thought in their heads.”  
Falon’Din rolled his eyes.  
“You don’t bed people for their thoughts, Dirthamen, but for your pleasure.” he said in long-suffering voice. “Gods, you are fucked up today.”  
“The problem is that I’m not.” Dirthamen replied. “I even tried Andruil. But then she wanted to tie me on a tree, and it ruined the mood.”  
“Stop whining.” Falon’Din commanded, pushing Dirthamen on the side to make room for him. Grudgingly, his twin adjusted.  
“Is this all there is in life?” Dirthamen asked, resting his head on Falon’Din’s chest. “A boring party after boring party, war going on forever, and nothing ever changes?”  
“And now we’re philosophical.” Falon’Din muttered under his breath.  
“Predictability.” Dirthamen declared with gloom. “It’s the true downfall of Elvhenan, and none of you can see it. Every action taken, I have already seen before. People are mindless drones, acting out the ready-written stories dictated by their class and position. Whether they stand high or low, there is no colour in their dreaming. Even their betrayals barely taste like anything, and their spirits are just withered stalks, washed white with no colour at all.”  
“You cannot fault people for lack of feeling and depth, when they lack even the basic capacity for glory.” Falon’Din said, holding his twin against his chest. “Everyone else is variously blind and empty inside. I thought you had learned it by now. We have spoken about this before, Dirthamen.”  
His brother did not answer, but just laid there, silent and still.  
“It pains me to see you so unhappy.” Falon’Din said, softening his tone. When Dirthamen was having one of his moods, it never paid off to be forceful. “There are only two kinds of people. Those who lead, and those who will serve. It is a thankless toil to rule over sheep. You shouldn’t grieve for them, because it is a wasted effort. They are fundamentally different from us. A sheep cannot become a dragon.”  
Falon’Din felt his brother curling closer to him. Something wet fell on his chest. Falon’Din frowned, staring at small wet spot spreading on the blue brocade of his shirt.  
“Are you weeping on me? Weeping, Dirthamen?” he demanded, feeling alarmed. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”  
Dirthamen bolted up and stepped through the Fade to nearest doorway, slamming the door shut behind him. Falon'Din was shocked. He followed his brother, knocking on the door.  
“Dirth! Open the door this instant!”

Behind the barred door, Dirthamen was sliding down against the wall. He held his eyes tightly shut, trying to breathe. Unwanted tears tried to push their way out between his lashes. Falon'Din had killed a dragon, and his marriage bond was still dead weight in Dirthamen's mind.

–-

A year later, Mythal made her usual visit to his son's lands. It was late autumn, but Dirthamen was still staying at his summer palace. The place was cold and uncomfortable after the summer heat withdrew, leaving it vulnerable to wind blowing from sea. His son had dined with her, but made his excuses as soon as the meal was finished. He looked miserable these days, claiming headache as he withdrew. Symptoms of lyrium hunger, Mythal thought, and sighed. If he could fight off addiction now, it would be for him in the long run.

She was fairly certain that Dirthamen did not know the story of two dragons vanishing in the Void. If he knew, he would not mourn so. Mythal played with the idea of going to him and telling him the truth. It was not wise, or necessary action. But he was her son, and it was not easy to see him hurt.

She considered, and walked a circle in her guest room, trying to make up her mind. Finally, as the grey clouds filled the sky and sun set over Mananor, Mythal wrapped a woolly shawl over her dress and pushed the garden doors open. She would walk through the small forest on his backyard, go to her son, and fix this.  
“Stay here.”, she advised her attendants. “I wish to see my son in private.”

The forest was meant to be a garden for high-ranking nobles to play in. There were more than enough trees to hide behind and steal a kiss from fair maiden, and bushes for more primitive endeavours. But in winter, it was a bleak place, with nothing but dark forms of barren trees and few pines which were evergreen. Nobody ever ventured there, but Mythal was familiar with the paths between trees, and she chose the one which would take her to her son's back door.

She was halfway there, when something moved in the dark. Mythal stopped, feeling for the dagger she always kept in the side seam of her dress as she waited for her sight to focus in the twilight. Something was swinging in a tree. A man had been hanged from a high branch, and in setting sun, the scales on his skin glittered like jewels.

Mythal did not waste time thinking. She knew it wasn't wise, but all her protective instincts were screaming in rage. She flung her hand forwards, using her magic to cut the rope. The drake fell down from a tree, and she gathered her skirts in her hands, running to him.  
“Who did this to you?”, she asked as she knelt down. He was a young male, unmarked, with lovely green scales shining through his elf-like form. Mythal forced her hand between the rope and his skin to cut it off, and he moaned in pain. There were tears in his eyes.  
“Don't weep.”, she said. “I have you now.”  
He drew a ragged breath, and burst in tears.

Mythal sat under a tree, stroking the drake as he wept against her skirts.  
“Did someone attack you, or did you do this to yourself?”, she asked, healing the marks on his neck. With Dirthamen being so explosive mood lately, she wouldn't put this past him. Drakes were territorial, jealous creatures, and in Mythal's opinion, her sons had never been very good at controlling their impulses. Dirthamen had already proven himself especially bad at it when that slave girl was concerned.  
“I wanted to die.”, the drake sobbed. “I'm a failure.”  
Mythal frowned.  
“You certainly are not.”, she said sharply. “Just look at you. You are very handsome young drake. Any dragon would be flattered to have you.”  
“She promised to give me wings, and I've been waiting and waiting, but she didn't come even though she gave me her word.”, he said in small voice. “I tried to be good and thoughtful, to give her everything she wanted, but… I guess she didn't want me in the end. She just wanted him.”  
Oh. So this was a case of broken heart. Mythal was quiet for a moment. It was fairly obvious whom he was talking about, considering the late events.  
“It's a harsh thing to be betrayed by someone you love, but it is not worth your life.”, Mythal said gently, her mind busy working.  
“I just wanted to have a dragon of my own. I could have been a second drake, or even a third drake. But I can't go on like this.”, he moaned.  
“Of course you can't.”, Mythal stroked his beautiful shining scales. “It is a nature of drake to be needed.”  
She considered if she could use this, and how. Her gaze followed the lines of his shoulders, and strong arms, the curve of his back and legs. A very handsome young man, indeed. The girl was a fool.  
She might have taken a moment too long to appreciate his fine form, because the drake looked up. He had definitely noticed.  
“She never understood me. Not like you do.”, he said softly, watching Mythal with hopeful eyes.  
Elgar'nan would likely throw a fit, Mythal considered. But Elgar'nan couldn't yell about what he didn't know, and he should have known by now what she was. A dragon.  
“What is your name?”, she asked, buying herself a few moments more.  
“Daern'thal.”, he replied, lightly placing his hand on Mythal's thigh. The gesture could have been read as an innocent attempt to support himself to better see her face from his current position, or not. Mythal was much amused, and she smiled at him.  
“You are indeed a crafty one, Daern'thal.”, she said, purring with appreciation. “As it is, I find myself in a need of a drake like you. Right now. Here.”  
She didn't need to say it twice. He leaped to occasion with notable enthusiasm. As a rule, Mythal appreciated young enthusiasm, especially when it took a form like this.

She did spare a fleeting thought on the fact she had not really planned to get fucked against a tree in his son's backyard, but then, sometimes life took unexpected turns. One had to adapt.  
Mythal gasped in surprise as her new drake gave her a particularly hard thrust.  
“Did I hurt you?”, he asked, panting.  
“No. Not at all.”, Mythal replied breathlessly, and wrapped her thighs around his waist, pulling him closer to mark him. A shoulder, she decided. Neck was too obvious. “I think you are wonderful.”  
The feeling of her teeth on his skin just spurned him on, and Mythal did not need to fake the genuine moan escaping her lips. _Yes_. The Great Mother herself had dropped a gift on Mythal's lap.  
“Abelas.”, she whispered, kissing him. “You are mine, and I will call you Abelas.”

 

“I want to go to search for Roshan.”, Daern'thal said. For once, he was actually wearing the clothes Dirthamen had given to him. A high-collared green coat with enchanted embroidery made his skin look flushed and less green than usually. He could pass for an elf, Dirthamen judged. Especially if he kept his pants on.  
“Are you certain it is a good idea?”, Dirthamen asked shrewdly. “You are not very good at blending with general population.”  
“We learn nothing by cursing Senris' pantry or making his vegetables wake up, even though it has been very fun. I'm sure he knows more than he's telling us.”, Daern'thal insisted. “I could get close to him, even if you can't.”  
“If you must.”, Dirthamen sighed, giving in. “But be careful. Roshan would never forgive me if something happened to you. Let me give you some money and passwords to my people in case you need assistance.”  
Daern'thal simply nodded and took his leave. Few days later, Mythal left as well, leaving Dirthamen alone in Mananor.

\--

“We have had a word from Daern'thal.”, Felassan said one spring few years later. “He has found a copy of Elgar'nan's secret military report which recounts the mine incident. It states that two dragons rose from the lake, and escaped into Void.”  
“Show it to me.”, Dirthamen's heart skipped a beat, and he snatched the paper from Felassan. A golden dragon, classified as as young mature female, a blue-and-yellow high dragon with faded scales. Blue couldn't fly, and golden dragon was dragging it towards a portal, other dragon hanging from it's tail with claws and teeth. A portal of shadows reaching towards them... It had to be her.  
“Fenedhis lasa.”, Dirthamen cursed heartily as he let the copy fall on his desk. “I thought she had died.”  
Felassan's expression was apologetic.  
“I fear your choice of wife was not the easiest option, my lord.”, the oculist offered.  
Dirthamen rubbed his temples, trying to adjust. He wasn't sure if he was furious, or relieved.  
“Tell everyone to pack up. There is no reason to stay here. She will come back when she comes back, and I'm not going to stay in this crappy weather a moment longer. I'm not sitting home and waiting while Roshan lounges in the Void.”, Dirthamen ordered and stood up. He needed a drink. Several drinks, and there was a party at Sylaise's.

\--

Time seemed to speed up, like it was wont to do when one was having a good time. The peace negotiations were progressing quite well. Even Falon'Din had agreed grudgingly not to vote against the motion, leaving a blank instead. Dirthamen felt like a living man again, and that mindset brought certain difficulties. He was starting to get extremely frustrated. It had been over ninety years since he last had sex with something else than his own hand, and his wife was still in another dimension.  
“You are still irritable.”, Falon'Din remarked as Dirthamen emptied another decanter of wine.  
Dirthamen was very drunk, and his tongue was slurring his words in most unbecoming way.  
“Wouldn't you be, in my position?, he asked from his brother. “There are women fluttering all over the room, with their nipples showing, and it's extremely uncomfortable.”  
Dirthamen considered his words, and added, because he didn't want to lie to Falon'Din:  
“Not that it matters much what they wear. Last week I had to take a freezing bath after I saw a redhead wearing an ugly hooded robe with high collar. She looked like a round barrel. I could scarcely tell if there was woman inside or not.”  
“Why?” Falon'Din frowned.  
“I haven't had any sex during this century.”, Dirthamen announced gloomily.  
“Why on earth you would do something so stupid?”, Falon'Din stared at him. “You, of all people.”  
“I promised.”, he said, reaching for wine glass. The room was swinging, and Dirthamen felt ill, but he swallowed anyway. “I promised not to. She would be hurt. I've tried, but every time I'm supposed to actually do something, I start to feel bad.”  
Falon'Din rolled his eyes.  
“Go to sleep, Dirth. You are hopelessly drunk.”, he said, clapping his hands. Servants came, and they carried Dirthamen to guest room to sleep.

After his brother was taken away, Falon'Din clapped his hands again, summoning his steward and gave him instructions to fetch a lower-ranking servant.  
When the girl was brought to him, Falon'Din watched her with calculating eye. There were few notable differences. The mouth was softer, less stubborn. The nose was smaller, but the hair was the same, as were the eyes. Falon'Din highly doubted his brother would note anything in his current condition.  
“You know that you and your mother have severely displeased me, don't you?”, he asked.  
“Yes, my lord.”, the answer was barely audible. “We beg for your mercy, my lord.”  
“This is your lucky day. I have a special task for you. Succeed, and both you and your mother will be released from the prison. Fail, and I will give you to Chosen Mathras, then to pools.”, Falon'Din promised.  
The girl knelt, looking tearful. Falon'Din frowned. The older Lavellan wouldn't have cried under any circumstances. She usually bore it stoically, or screamed at him.  
“Stop that. Your sister never cried.”, Falon'Din snapped, and the girl froze. “Vunora, you will escort the girl to my brother's chambers and see that she behaves. He wants to fuck a Lavellan, so I will give him a Lavellan.”  
“But my lord, what should I do? What manner of attention does he prefer?”, the girl asked, wiping her eyes.  
“Just pretend to be your sister.”, Falon'Din advised and shooed them away.

Viviel's mouth was set in stubborn line as she walked along the corridors with her Unfallen escort.  
“I would like to stop at the potion room, if it is all right.”, she requested politely.  
The horrifying armoured figure was quiet for a moment, but then they nodded and turned to right. They stopped in front of third door on the right and opened the door with simple touch of their hand. Viviel watched with envy. It must be glorious, to be one of the Unfallen. They could go anywhere. Do anything. They were on the top of in the temple, enjoying Falon'Din's trust and attention, while she would have done anything to get even a fraction of power they held.  
Viviel could not understand how her sister could have thrown it all away.  
“I'd like a yellow potion, please.”, she said calmly.  
“Yellow potion?”, the Unfallen looked at her. The disembodied voice was frightening, but Viviel told herself not to flinch. Their lord had said that her sister wouldn't have cried, and she had to be like her sister. This was her one chance to rise through ranks. She would take it.  
“Yes.”, Viviel nodded.  
“The yellow potions enhance fertility. Blue potions prevent pregnancy.”, the Unfallen said, watching her. Viviel couldn't tell their expression behind the mask.  
“I know. I was a herbalist's apprentice in our village before my sister ran off.”, Viviel said steadily. “I'm not my sister. I will not make the same mistakes. I would never run away and subject my family to our lord's displeasure.”  
She raised her chin up and looked at the Unfallen.  
“However, I will gladly do what my lord asks, to best of my ability. Please give me the yellow potion and then take me to Lord Dirthamen.”  
The Unfallen looked at her.  
“I will tell my lord what you requested.”, they warned as they handed her the yellow potion from shelf.  
“It would be good, if you please. I do not wish to keep any secrets from my lord.”, Viviel said gracefully as she uncorked the bottle and swallowed the sweet liquid inside.

The guest room was very splendid. Viviel had never seen anything as grand as the luxurious bed grown from a living tree. Viviel tiptoed carefully across the floor and folded her ugly grey robe on a chair. When she carefully climbed on the bed, mattress felt softer than anything she had ever felt.  
She looked appraisingly at the man splayed on the bed. She had seen lord Dirthamen once from distance, but this was first time she could study the man her sister was rumoured to love. So far, Viviel was actually a bit disappointed in what he saw. She had always thought that Evanuris would be something finer and greater than ordinary men. But Lord Dirthamen smelled of wine and sweat, and he was snoring. Gods were not supposed to snore. It was unbecoming.

Maybe that was why Roshan had run off with Nameless, Viviel thought nastily. It would be like Roshan. She was always whisked away in a blaze of glory, when they had to stay behind, dealing with disasters which followed his sister's actions. Viviel had been thirteen when their papae had been taken away by Falon'Din's soldiers. They had said that papae had to die because of Roshan. And then Unfallen had fallen from grace when they lost the Duel of Hundred Years, and Lavellan village taxes had suddenly gone up by half. They just had the news of Roshan's upcoming marriage to some Mythal's high-ranking servant, when Andruil's hunters came to village and turned everything upside down, looking for escaped slave. Three of villagers died before Andruil's people finally believed they knew nothing. And when Falon'Din's people came for Viviel and mother, Viviel had sworn she would not let her sister's actions to ruin them forever. This was her chance to change it all. Her one chance, and she would make most of it. She knelt by the intoxicated Evanuris and pulled his robes up with careful hands, starting to touch him. The snoring stopped.

He didn't take long to rise to occasion, and Viviel was pleased. Maybe there was truth to rumours of Lord Dirthamen and lovely ladies. It was a pity that her own experience was rather one-sided, but there might be others, later. She spat on her hand, rubbing it between her legs to make herself wet, and then she carefully eased herself on him.

It all went very well for a moment or two, and she could feel him getting harder inside her, when his eyelashes fluttered and he whispered something.  
“What is it, my lord?”, Viviel asked.  
At the sound of her voice, his body twitched.  
“Roshan?”, he asked, louder this time. His eyes suddenly opened, and Viviel's breath caught. They were lovely dark purple. Very beautiful. Lord Dirthamen was looking her straight in the eye, for a long time. She smiled and kept moving, trying to look her best. But the expression on his face was a bit strange. It didn't look like lust. No. The lust was fading, rapidly, and turning into panic.  
“You are not Roshan.”, Lord Dirthamen said, and he put his hands on Viviel's waist. Viviel smiled in excitement, but then Lord Dirthamen rolled on his side. He slipped out from her, and sat up, pulling the sheet up to his waist. Then the Evanuris grabbed a bucket by the bed and vomited.

Viviel was not impressed. This was not how she had imagined this going. He was still retching in the bucket loudly, and even though the bucket was enchanted to neutralize smells and empty itself, it was still not very nice. Also, he hadn't come yet, so she wasn't certain if this was going to work or not. It was just her luck to get only few drops to work with.  
Finally he looked up, and wiped his mouth.  
“Get out.”, Lord Dirthamen said, and his eyes were cold.  
“But my lord, I--”, Viviel tried to appease him.  
“Get out. Now.”, Lord Dirthamen said, his anger barely held in check. Viviel could tell there was no reasoning with him, so she quickly crawled off the bed, took her robe from the chair and slipped out. Damn.

The Unfallen was waiting outside the door.  
“He woke up, and was not pleased with my attentions.”, Viviel said. “He asked me to leave.”  
“Threw you out, more like.”, the Unfallen said.  
“I was asked to leave.”, Viviel repeated in shaking voice. She was so angry that she wanted to scream. Of course the Unfallen would take _her_ side. As far as Viviel knew, they were probably proud because one of them had been acknowledged worthy of courtship by an Evanuris, even if Roshan had been revealed as a Nameless later. Everyone knew that Prince Tarlin's mother was an Unfallen, too. They just couldn't say which one.

Sometimes Viviel hated her sister.

 

 


	22. The peace treaty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The peace treaty is signed. Falon'Din gives Roshan a present.

Three months after her spring rampage, Roshan stood once again in the Void, feeling increasingly nervous.  
“Your hands are shaking. It will not do.”, Geldauran said. “Come here.”  
With meticulous attention to detail, Geldauran fastened the red ribbons holding her hair like horns. She took a step back, admiring her work.  
“You almost look like a proper dragon.”, Geldauran said. “But it still needs something, I think. A final touch.”  
“There is no time.”, Solas said, clearing his throat. “We agreed on midday.”  
“Rubbish.”, Geldauran sniffed. “Dragons are above schedules.”  
Solas snorted.  
“You used to say that dragons belong to no man, too.”  
“Of course. Everything I say is true.”, Geldauran said, undisturbed. She pulled out a dusty box under her bed, and took out an old, darkened piece of metal. It had a high spike on the middle, and three crooked ones on each end.  
“Yes.”, Geldauran decided, blowing the dust off. “This will do nicely.”  
“What is it?”, Roshan asked.  
“I have no idea.”, Geldauran admitted as she put it on Roshan's hair, fitting the thing properly. “But it looks a lot like terrifying barbaric crown. Since I'm the Queen of the Void and you are my daughter, you should wear a crown on your wedding day, so nobody will mistake you for a commoner. Just don't tell anyone I found it from a dusty box under my bed. Only Great Mother knows what it originally was, or who put it there.”  
Solas started to laugh. His eyes twinkled, and he looked handsome despite the recent loss of his hair. Baldness suited him, Roshan thought.  
“You are impossible.”  
“Thank you, Solas. We aim to please.”, Geldauran said smugly. “But now run off and tell the children to get ready. I need a few words alone with my daughter.”

“Are you certain of this, Roshan?”, Geldauran asked in serious voice after Solas left.  
“I already bonded him decades ago, remember?”, Roshan said, trying to smile.  
“I know, darling. But you know what I meant. Are you certain that the peace treaty is the right choice?”  
Roshan looked at her reflection from the mirror. She wore an armour made from reinforced leather and sharp guards on her arms and legs. It was not much like a wedding dress, the only concession being the short burgundy train starting from hips.  
“I believe so.”, she said. “I have to believe so. Because too many die in the war, and Evanuris use it as an excuse to close their eyes from the needs of their own people. They will never make it right for the slaves as long as they can look elsewhere.”  
Geldauran acknowledged her words with a nod.  
“It is your call, child.”, she said. “I'm getting old. I might make it through this year, or maybe next, but I will not see the end of next century. If the Evanuris betray us, and nothing comes of this, at least you tried.”  
“But how can you trust me with a decision like this? We weren't in best of terms, in the beginning.”, Roshan felt forced to point it out. Her opinion of Geldauran had changed much lately. It was difficult to dislike someone whom the dragon side of her thought as her mother. She still had a lingering want to sneak under Geldauran's wing and have a nap every time Roshan saw her in dragon form.  
“It is what mothers do. We teach our children to fly, and hope they will do well. I believe you fully understand the danger power brings to those who hold it. You have seen and suffered the consequences of arbitrariness, and that knowledge will make you wiser when it is your time to rule.”  
“As mothers go, you are a good one. It has been nice today, to get ready for my wedding with my mother. Even if it is actually a fake wedding.”, Roshan smiled shyly.  
“They are the best sort. If something goes wrong, you are already bonded, so who cares.”, Geldauran remarked. Her expression grew more serious.  
“You may celebrate today, but I need you to come back tomorrow. I'm sending Solas back to Elvhenan, so we can start your training.”  
“Are you certain?”, Roshan asked sensitively. “I know you are fond of him.”  
“I am, but it doesn't change the facts. He is a spy, essentially. I have enjoyed his company greatly, and I hope I have taught him a few things which might make him see the world less black and white, but Solas cannot be here when I start to teach you what lies above. That knowledge is not for others.”, Geldauran said, making a small nod towards the ceiling where the hidden staircase was.  
“I will come back tomorrow morning.”  
“Let us agree noon, dear. If you have to get bonded despite our matriarchal society, you should have enough time to concentrate on the actually useful parts of their ritual. Those eggs won't lay themselves, you know.”  
“Now you ruined it, mother.”, Roshan sighed.  
“My pleasure.”, Geldauran said, and kissed her cheek. “Now we must go. Remember, if any of those people start to act funny, just point them out and we'll bite their heads off. Anaris is very eager.”

The ceremony was held at the new border between the Nameless lands and Elvhenan. Geldauran created a portal through the Void for herself, Solas, Anaris and Roshan. Sister did not wish to come, and Roshan suspected that only reason why Anaris decided to join the party was his hope that Falon'Din would indeed do something threatening and Anaris would get the excuse to bite his head off.

They stepped through the portal and arrived on a field filled with colourful tents. In the distance, Roshan saw the familiar banners of Evanuris flowing in the wind. For a moment, she felt like she was on the wrong side. The strange elves around her had a markings of crimson on their faces, but several of them looked eerily familiar to her.  
“I will stay here and keep watch.”, Anaris said, nodding to a woman wearing the vestments of general.  
“We are already late.”, Solas reminded them, looking at the sky. Sun had just reached the zenith.  
Geldauran, who was in her dragon form, snorted. She made her way through the Nameless ranks, and the soldiers made way for her. Roshan felt many people staring at her, and she walked proudly, quietly grateful for the fact that her dress was more like a suit of armour than a pretty gown. It was easier to breathe knowing that sinking a blade between her ribs would take actual effort.  
“They look familiar. I swear I saw one who looked just like June.”, Solas said when their little party moved to empty ground between banners.  
“It's to be expected, since most of the armed forces are descended from Evanuris' children.”, Geldauran remarked in draconic. “I had to do something with all those babies.”  
Roshan understood the words, and she stared at Geldauran. Solas did not, and he gave a questioning glance at the dragon.  
“You should go, dear. Solas, stay for a moment. It's time for our farewells.”, Geldauran continued in elvish.  
Roshan nodded. She made her way alone to the quickly constructed, open-walled building. From the distance, she could already see Elgar'nan standing there, waiting.

Solas arrived few minutes later. He looked like he couldn't decide whether he should be upset, or happy. But he held their copy of the peace treaty, as Roshan and Elgar'nan both cast the spells verifying that the copies were identical and unchanged.  
“I must say I didn't expect this day to come.”, Elgar'nan said as he cut his thumb with a small knife Senris handed him. “You had guts. I'll give you that.”  
“Becoming a dragon was not stealing your innocent son's heart under false pretences?”, Roshan asked lightly as she signed her name with blood. It wasn't her name, not really. One of stupid diplomatic problems the treaty presented. She had to sign as Razikale, daughter of Dumat, because the Evanuris had declared her officially Nameless when she first transformed and Roshan from village of Lavellan did not exist.  
“It was a lot faster than saving up the money.”, Elgar'nan nodded good-naturedly. “I look forwards to family dinners with you. Every Saturday at noon. Senris will send you the details.”  
Roshan looked at Senris, who stood by his lord's side, his expression coolly neutral as always. She gave him a smile, and he returned a tiny nod as he took the treaty from Solas and offered it for Elgar'nan's inspection.  
“All seems to be in order, my lord.”, Senris said.  
“Excellent. Now, bring in the goodies.”  
Senris sighed. He gave his lord a disapproving look and turned to an attendant.  
“Please inform lord Dirthamen that his presence is requested.”  


\--

As weddings went, Roshan much preferred the first one. Even though the area was supposed to be a neutral ground, it was filled with Evanuris and their high-ranking servants. Geldauran and Anaris stayed on their side of the border. It had been agreed by both parties that the Elvhenan was not ready for the truth about dragons being the leaders of the Nameless, and letting the Evanuris see Geldauran in her fragile form was too high risk to take. As a result, Roshan kept feeling the itchy sensation between her ribs, especially around Dirthamen's family. Falon'Din was worst, because he looked entirely too happy. Roshan had served him long enough to know it never ended well for her when Falon'Din was happy.

She was relieved when the celebration turned towards the end, and nobody had attempted to kill her yet.  
Dirthamen was making rounds among Elvhenan nobles with her, accepting well wishes from people Roshan didn't know, or knew only by reputation. The party would end soon, and they could go home, and tomorrow she would get back to Void.  
<Soon, gaidhalas.>, his voice soothed her through the bond. <Nobody would try to kill you during a wedding. I've taken precautions.>  
<If I get out from here in one piece, I will be surprised.>, Roshan replied dryly as she listened Dirthamen talk with Learned Fenjosian. Stars, she was grateful not ending up as a bribe for the man like Falon'Din had originally planned. She didn't like the way he ogled her neckline. Would it make good impression if she blinded people in her wedding?  
<Tsk, my love. There isn't even food served, so you can't get poisoned.>, Dirthamen replied, slipping his hand on her waist as they turned away.  
<Your father might poison me during the family dinner. I got invitation.>, Roshan noted.  
Dirthamen considered it, and she felt a spike of worry through their bond.  
<That is far more likely. We will just come up with an excuse to skip the event.>, he decided.

They were making their way towards the edge of the crowd, when Falon'Din and the Unfallen walked to block their way. Roshan tensed. Vunora stood there next to Falon'Din, she could tell from her stance. Shathor was on the left, and Isenril opposite her. There were more Falon'Din's people behind them.  
“Brother.”, Falon'Din said, and he smiled. “I thought you would appreciate privacy with your new wife, so I thought I would give my present to both of you now that you are still here.”  
“A present?”, Roshan repeated, feeling chills.  
“It's especially for you, Lavellan.”, Falon'Din said, and took a parchment from Vunora. “The deeds of ownership are here.”  
“I don't want a slave.”, she said, glaring at Falon'Din.  
“Not even your own sister?”, Falon'Din widened his eyes mockingly. “Or should I ask from my brother? He is the father, after all. Extra children might come handy, since you don't do so well carrying them.”  
Isenril stepped on the side, and Roshan saw a woman standing behind him. Her hair was red and curly, and her eyes were blue, but the features were different from hers. She looked like their mother, but Roshan wasn't sure. It had been so long time, and Roshan remembered her sister as three-year-old. Viviel's slightly rounded stomach was easily visible with the tight-fitting dress she wore. Four months, five months? Roshan wasn't sure. She had never paid much attention to pregnancy progress. For a good reason.  
“My lord Dirthamen.”, Viviel said politely as she curtsied, smiling at him. Then she turned to Roshan, and the smile vanished. She curtsied again, a bit less deep.  
“Sister.”, Viviel greeted her, and the tone of her voice was considerably less warm.  
Dirthamen's hand in hers was cold, and there was nothing but panic flooding through their bond. His expression didn't change, but he held her hand a bit tighter.  
Roshan felt her eyes prickling, and for a moment, she imagined what would happen if she lifted her hand, pointed at Falon'Din, and Anaris would come to bite his head off. She wanted to do it, oh, she wanted to do it so badly.  
<Please, Roshan.>, Dirthamen whispered in her mind. He sounded upset.  
But he had promised. It hurt. It hurt more than she wanted him to know, but there was no way to hide it, not with their bond.  
Only thing keeping her together was the smirk on Falon'Din's face. Roshan straightened her posture, and looked at her former lord, ignoring the prickling in her own eyes.  
“Is my mother part of the wedding gift, too?”, she asked as she took the papers, passing them to Dirthamen's hand. She wanted to say something else, but this was not the moment. Ruining Falon'Din's victory was not worth of Viviel's life.  
“If you wish.”, Falon'Din said gracefully. “Come to my temple, and I shall gift her to you.”  
“I will not forget this, brother.”, Dirthamen said, and his gaze was dark as he looked at Falon'Din.  
“Anaris expects us to go back.”, Roshan told him, feeling numb. Sooner they got this over with, sooner she could run over the border to Geldauran, and bawl against her scales.  
“Yes.”, Dirthamen nodded. He squeezed her hand, and they turned away. But Roshan heard Viviel's soft footsteps following them, and by the time they got to Nameless side of celebration, the prickling in her eyes had turned into silent tears streaming down her face.

–

Roshan had never thought she would spend her wedding night crying in Geldauran's bed. She didn't know where Dirthamen was, and frankly, she didn't care. The bond didn't work in the Void, which was a good thing. She had not seen him after they arrived through a portal. And a part of her dearly hoped that Sister had eaten Viviel, baby and all.  
Geldauran sighed, stroking her hair.  
“I should have asked for Falon'Din instead of their sister when Mythal's children were small.”, Geldauran mused. “World would have been much better place if someone ate him.”  
“It hurts.”, Roshan said in small voice, hiding her face against the pillow.  
“It won't get better this way.”, Geldauran said finally. “You have to speak with Dirthamen. Then you have to decide whether his explanation is good enough. You must either forgive him, or decide you can't. If you can't, he will be killed, and it will be the end of this. You can't make halfway choices. It is one luxury a queen cannot afford.”  
Geldauran smoothed her hair again and then stood up.  
“I have to see to others. Try to get some sleep. I will come to see you later.”, she said softly, and left Roshan alone in the room.

She knew it was him when the door opened quietly. Even though she couldn't feel him through a bond, she had learned the sound of his steps long before that. They had been the same when she was still a slave in Falon'Din's temple kitchen, making excuses to work in the back garden and listen if he would come. They were the same now, when she was bawling her heart out in Geldauran's bed. She sat up, wiping her eyes on a corner of a sheet.  
“I don't know how it happened.”, Dirthamen said. He sounded angry. Very angry. “I'm not sure if Falon'Din was speaking the truth, or if he is just pushing someone else's child on us.”  
“How can't you know? It's usually simple. Either you lay with someone or you don't.”, Roshan said, unable to keep the sharpness away from her voice.  
“There was a party in Falon'Din's temple. I was drunk, and I passed out on a couch, talking with him. I recall telling him how awful it was not to have sex, but I didn't want to hurt you. Then I woke up in the guest room, with her riding me. I first thought it was you, but there was no bond, so I pushed her away and told her to leave. I didn't even know her name. She just looked a lot like you.”, Dirthamen said, sounding distressed. “I'm not sure if it went on long enough to get anyone pregnant. I didn't finish. Roshan, I wouldn't do this to you.”  
She swallowed. There was no bond to tell her if he spoke the truth, but she wanted very badly to believe him.  
“Would you lie to me about this?”, Roshan asked in small voice.  
“I wouldn't.”, Dirthamen replied, sitting on the edge of bed. “I never thought Falon'Din would do something like this. It was plain vicious.”  
“I wanted to have children with you.”, Roshan said hollowly. “But you said you would be a terrible father, and I already failed as a mother. I couldn't have kept them safe. I thought that either dragons would eat them, or your family would kill them, and it was doomed anyway. But I still wanted, and now of all possible people, my own sister--”  
Her voice broke, and she burst in tears again. Dirthamen pulled her against his chest, and Roshan couldn't summon the will to withdraw. She didn't want to. Even though it sounded ridiculous and far-fetched, she believed his explanation. It was just the kind of cruel joke Falon'Din would have enjoyed.  
“I'm so sorry.”, Dirthamen said hoarsely.  
“I'm sorry too. This was a terrible wedding.”, Roshan wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “Thank the stars we didn't invite Falon'Din to the real one.”  
Dirthamen chuckled joylessly.  
“Indeed.”  
He was quiet for a moment, stroking her back. From his expression, Roshan knew he was thinking.  
“Did you mean it what you said? About children.”, Dirthamen asked.  
“It's fine, really. The spell has been invaluable. Otherwise I would be hatching eggs at the moment. But I find it very hard to think that someone else… “, Roshan fought to regain her composure. “Because I wanted to do it with you.”  
She sniffed, swallowing hard.  
“It was a stupid idea, always. Terribly dangerous, especially so close to tribute time. It was one paragraph the peace treaty did not include. And if my family wouldn't eat them, your family would kill them. Elgar'nan could just send Senris to offer me poisoned nuts. Last time I craved nuts like a madwoman.”  
“I didn't know.”, Dirthamen said.  
“It was just ridiculous. Luckily there was plenty of room in ugly grey robes I wore back then.”, Roshan tried to smile. “Apparently Falon'Din has changed the clothes design for his temple slaves, now. Viviel looks more pregnant than I ever did.”  
“It doesn't matter.”, Dirthamen replied heatedly. “There is no reason for us to care whether the child is indeed my doing, or someone else's. Falon'Din gave her ownership to me, so we can set her free and send her on her way. Or sell her to someone else. End the pregnancy, even. It might be the best option. I don't think I would ever care to lay my eyes on that child. I didn't do it for others, and with them, I at least knew what I was doing. I will not be a tool used to hurt you.”  
“I had not thought it that way.”, Roshan said uncertainly. “She is my sister.”  
“Who holds little love for you, and clear ambition towards nicer things in life, if her greetings towards us are any proof of her intentions.”, Dirthamen remarked sharply. “Whether she was a willing participant, or acting according my brother's orders, I don't like her. She, or her child, are of no consequence to us unless you choose differently. Even then, they should not stop you from having what you want.”  
“It's too dangerous.”, Roshan said.  
“I highly doubt Geldauran would eat any of our children. She threatened to eat me if I didn't make it right for you. As for my family, we could just keep it secret. We managed to keep our relationship a secret for much longer time. Children grow up quickly. It would only take a few decades.”, Dirthamen gave her a small, hesitant smile.  
“But you don't even want children.”, she said helplessly.  
“I don't want children with other people.”, Dirthamen corrected. “With you.. it could be different. Especially if I didn't have to think about the Nameless Ones eating them. It always dampened the thought.”  
He shrugged, looking vulnerable and uncertain.  
“I don't know if I would be any good as a father. But we could try, if you wish. Falon'Din seems to do all right, and his son is still alive. I'm fairly certain we would do better as parents. If we don't like it, they grow up in twenty years.”  
“So they do.”, Roshan said. She looked at Dirthamen, feeling vulnerable.  
“I would like it, but I'm afraid.”, she admitted quietly. “Last time was awful.”  
“I won't leave you alone this time.”, Dirthamen promised. He kissed her forehead, and they sat quietly in Geldauran's bedroom, trying to come in terms with the decision they had made.

Undoing the infertility spell took mere moments. Working up the courage to touch each other took much longer. They slept chastely side by side for first three weeks.

\--

“You there! New girl. Go change the sheets in lady's room and clean the place up.”, a plump woman said and dropped a pile of neatly folded, still warms linens on Viviel's arms. Her name was Renala, if Viviel remembered right.  
“They're going on at it again, then?”, another washerwoman grinned as she cast a heating spell under a big iron pot.  
“The silence wards were up when I did my round turning off the lights last night.”, Auriel informed the others. “And when I went to our lord's room to make his bed this morning, he hadn't slept there.”  
“If there is a need for clean sheets, I think it's likely they didn't sleep at all.”, a man in charge of drying quipped. The laundry room filled with good-natured laughter.  
Viviel did not feel like laughing. Timidly, she took the pile of sheets and left the room.

Lord Dirthamen did not like his slaves to be seen. The estate had two floors, and the lower one was a labyrinth of corridors and small passages reaching to every part of his palace. When Viviel came here, she had been instructed on which ones to use. The other slaves claimed that people who wandered to parts where they had no business being, just disappeared. There was a woman with only half an arm, who was rumoured to have lost it in Lord Dirthamen's labyrinth. Stories varied from flesh-eating linen closet to portal to another dimension. Viviel did not care which one was true, but she was meticulous with using only passages marked with red lines on the walls. One learned obedience in Falon'Din's lands. Even though lord Dirthamen's slaves were less quiet people, Viviel did not think it meant Evanuris treated his property less harshly. Likely the punishments he used were just less visible.

It made harder for Viviel to get a read on how to behave. After her lord Falon'Din had given the ownership deeds to Lord Dirthamen, nobody had said anything to Viviel. One of Dirthamen's people had told her to wait among the other servants for transportation. As weddings went, it had not been a lively party. No food, no dancing, no drinking. Viviel had seen much better bonding celebrations in Lavellan village. The guests in this one were almost all soldiers, and they were just staring at opposite side of the border where the Nameless were.

In Falon'Din's realm, Viviel thought grumpily, people were given rewards for good service. There she had extra fruit on breakfast, and her own room after she informed her lord about her pregnancy. But here nobody cared about her, or lord Dirthamen's baby. She had been put in the laundry room to do a load after load of dark purple uniforms Dirthamen's palace servants wore. It was hard work, and her feet were swollen and sore at the end of the day. She had complained politely to the overseer, pointing out that expecting mothers were usually transferred to lighter duties, but the overseer had just looked at her blankly, like he hadn't understood what Viviel said. Viviel didn't buy it. The language differences between two neighbouring realms were not that drastic.

The servants' entrances to palace rooms were hidden behind panels, wall paintings and various frescoes. Most doors were just mechanical, letting through a slight draft, but this one had reinforced barrier field and ridiculous amount of runes glowing threateningly in the dark passageway. Viviel glared at the runes, thinking how spoiled her sister obviously was, and then raised her chin to look at the raven symbol above doorway. She felt uncomfortable prickling in her left eye as the sentient spell woke. The purple glow left her blinking for a moment. It was some sort of identification and safety precaution, she had been told, to ensure people couldn't enter places where they had no business being. Personally, Viviel thought that a key would have worked just fine. There was no need to blind people with fancy lights.

She pushed open the panel, stepping inside a bedroom. It was airy and pretty, all done up in burnt orange and yellow. The room had only three walls and no ceiling, another sign of excessive magic used for comfort. Viviel couldn't even begin to guess how much effort had been put to something as stupid as giving her sister a chance to look at the stars above before she fell asleep. In Viviel's opinion, Roshan was not made from sugar and getting rained on wouldn't have killed her. If one was spoiled enough to want to sleep in fluffy bed under an open sky, she should have suffered the perils of weather, too.

Grumpily, Viviel dropped her bundle of clean sheets on the bed and got to work.

 

The bond between them was radiating fragility, and his wife had been unusually quiet whole morning. Dirthamen knew the reason.  
“It has only been a month.”, Dirthamen said as he sat on the bench in bathroom, preparing to untangle the red wet mess which was Roshan's hair. If he left it unattended, the curls would turn into giant frizzy tangle. Roshan didn't care about her hair. His wife's idea of beauty regimen was some unidentified white liquid Falon'Din's slaves used. When Dirthamen had asked about it, Roshan just shrugged and said that it came in big clay bottles and frothed a lot.  
“Mmh.”  
“These things take time.”, Dirthamen said evenly as he applied hair balsam to his palms, rubbing his hands together.  
“Of course.”, she replied, changing the subject. “But I'm sure you have work to do. Actual work, not playing a maid. I'm perfectly capable combing my own hair.”  
“You aren't, if your solution for tangles is to cut them off. You need a lecture about proper hair care. It's one of my father's chief interests. Others are reading smutty romance novels and causing general chaos.”, Dirthamen put his fingers on the right spots, starting to rub the balm in the roots. Roshan let out a soft, barely audible sigh and relaxed against his touch. Dirthamen smiled and continued. Like he had learned years ago, physical contact made her more open.  
“You forgot tormenting Senris with idiotic orders.”, Roshan said a moment later. Her eyes were closed, and the bond was slowly starting to radiate pleased feelings. His success was further confirmed by water drops on her skin taking a blue tint.  
“Do you think so?”, Dirthamen asked lightly.  
She chuckled.  
“Senris thinks so. His lord 'seems to find certain enjoyment from using uncommonly outrageous and undignified phrases when communicating his wishes'.”, Roshan remarked. “That's about as close to bitching about Evanuris as Senris ever gets.”  
“You seem to know him very well.”, Dirthamen noted and interrupted his work to lick a drop of lyrium from her shoulder. The taste was almost electric on his tongue.  
“I don't know if anyone truly knows him, except Elgar'nan.”  
“It might be so.”, Dirthamen agreed. “Now, just lie there for a moment and let the balm work. I think I left the brush in your room.”

   
“What are you doing here?”, a cold voice interrupted Viviel. She stopped where she stood, arms full of used sheets.  
“I was told to change the linens, my lord.”, Viviel replied humbly, looking down to hide any traces of arrogance.  
Lord Dirthamen was wearing a green bathrobe and dripping water on the floor. He was a far cry from Falon'Din's regal appearance, but Viviel felt uneasy all the same. It was the cold fury in his gaze when he looked at her.  
“You raped me.”, Evanuris hissed.  
Viviel was aghast. She held the sheets like they were shield, and took few shaky steps backwards.  
“I didn't! You are a man! Men can't be raped by women.”, she blurted.  
“Bullshit.”, Dirthamen snapped.  
“I-, I-, I just thought--”, Viviel stammered in panic.  
“Shut up!!”  
When he grabbed her, Viviel dropped the sheets. Her back was smashed against the wall, and his hand was gripping her jaw hard enough to bruise. But the worst was sharp, burning spike of magic digging into her brain.

It hurt worse than anything she had ever experienced. Viviel couldn’t' see anything but white, and it felt like her brain would melt any moment. She started to scream, a high, keening noise. There was something foreign in her head, an unforgiving presence rumbling through her thoughts and memories. She remembered when Andruil's slave hunters had searched their house, taking every single item out from drawers and cupboards and just throwing them to floor. Viviel had never felt so defeated than when she stood watching the mess, unable to do anything, and her mother cried. Now her head was the same, and she was going to break just like papae's favourite porcelain plate.

Suddenly the grip was loosened, and Viviel fell on the floor. Her vision was all spotty, making the room swing in her eyes. There was something white in front of her, and green behind it. She curled around herself, sobbing. A hand touched her shoulder, and she felt different magic washing over her, soothing her bruises and hurts.  
“It's all right, now. I have you.”, her sister said, looking pale and upset. Roshan was kneeling on the floor next to Viviel, and behind her, lord Dirthamen stood.  
“You lied.”, lord Dirthamen crossed his arms over his chest. Anger was still radiating from him in waves. “Tell her the truth about the baby.”  
Viviel didn't want to, but she didn't want to die.  
“I thought it was my one chance to escape.”, she said in hoarse voice. “I had to get away from there, and getting pregnant worked for you, so I thought it could work for me, too. I got a fertility potion. But he had to ruin it-”  
“If you think me as some stud who-”  
“Vhenan.”, Roshan said quietly, and Dirthamen closed his mouth, seething with anger.  
“so I went to prince Tarlin after I left his rooms. He was nicer. Much nicer.”, Viviel said, giving a dirty look at Dirthamen. Or his bathrobe hem, specifically. She was not suicidal person.  
“Who is Tarlin?”, Roshan frowned.  
“My nephew.”, Dirthamen supplied. “Falon'Din's late tribute. The one he kept.”


	23. Dirthamen and the dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen and Roshan discuss slavery. Dirthamen attempts to deal with his-wife-the- dragon in Evanuris party.

Viviel had been taken to different direction through the labyrinth, escorted by Roshan. The room was small, but it had two doors and there was a large window facing mountains. The second door led to tiny garden closed off by high walls. A lone pear tree grew there. A raven sat on the branch, smoothing his feathers.  
“What will happen to me?”, Viviel asked as she sat on the bed, relieved to get off her shaking feet.  
Roshan's expression was uneasy.  
“A prison sentence of seven hundred years.”, she said.  
“WHAT?”  
“He wanted to kill you. This was the best compromise I could get for you.”, Roshan answered, looking out from the window.  
“Should I thank you, then?”, Viviel demanded. “You have ruined my life a dozen times over. First papae, and then our whole village, and now my baby will be born in a dungeon?”  
“It is better this way.”, Roshan said, and her face was expressionless. “You and your child are safer here behind the barred doors.”  
“Why? At least tell me why?”  
“I can't tell you. It is not my secret to keep.”, her sister replied, smoothing her perfectly fine dress. She looked like a bloody noble. “I will come back later, and bring you books.”  
Viviel wanted to hurt her. Her sister was just a stranger to her, a stranger with undeserved position and ability to wreck Viviel's life without even trying. What kind of mercy this was supposed to be? A prison sentence, with a polite offer to bring her books?  
She knew she couldn't beat Roshan in a fight, and she shouldn't probably even try, so Viviel settled on only thing which might hurt her.  
“It could be his, you know?”, she said poisonously. “I was with Tarlin, yes, but it could be either of them.”  
Roshan was quiet for a moment before she spoke:  
“Having my husband's child has not turned out well for anyone. I'm only trying to protect you.”  
“Like you protected mother? She is still in Falon'Din's dungeons! Instead of bringing me books, do something about that, o' hallowed lady!”  
“For what cost?”, Roshan leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. “If I break into Falon'Din's temple to steal her, he would use it as an excuse to annul the peace treaty. Is your mother's life worth of all who would die in the war?”  
Viviel's eyes filled with tears.  
“She is your mother, too! And she thinks you better than this.”  
Without a single word, Roshan walked through the door and locked it behind her.

  
\--

Her sword. Check. The dagger forged in Void, very useful against the magic barriers. Check. The soft leather armour – limited protection, but it didn't make a sound or register in magical wards – check. Grappling hook and rope – check. Roshan wrote a quick note, leaving it on Dirthamen's pillow and then climbed quietly out from the window.

Roshan was approaching the wall separating the private part of Dirthamen's palace from public grounds when she noticed something dark on a top of it. A man, sitting on the wall. There were two ravens sitting on his shoulders.  
“Hello, stranger.”, Dirthamen greeted her ironically. “You bear remarkable familiarity to my wife, but my wife would have no reason to sneak in the dark, armed and armoured. Were you planning a nice walk before going to sleep? Or maybe, judging by your outfit, a quick flight to Falon'Din's temple in the valleys?”  
Dirthamen fixed his purple gaze on her, accusation clearly written on her face. Roshan writhed, feeling very uncomfortable, and tried to think what to say. She had been caught red-handed.  
“You bastard.”, she said to the raven on left.  
The bird croaked, sounding rather pleased.  
“Falon'Din expects you to do just this, and you know it.”, Dirthamen wasn't going to relent.  
“I wasn't planning on going alone.”, Roshan muttered, looking at her boots.  
“Oh? And pray tell, whom you were going to ask to accompany you to the temple of doom? On a heroic quest to save your mother? Clearly not your husband, the very person you swore to trust. I dearly hope you weren't going to disappear with bloody _Senris_. Again.”  
“Stop playing with me!”, Roshan snapped. “Yes, I was not going to tell you! Because you would tell me not to go, and I can't leave her there!”  
“I'm hurt.”, Dirthamen announced, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don't disapprove your plan to break into my brother's temple. Falon'Din has earned something nasty for ruining our wedding. I disapprove because you weren't going to take me with you. For all that I know, you just left a note on my pillow.”  
Roshan switched her weight from left to right and Dirthamen groaned.  
“By bloody tears, Roshan!”  
“I'm sorry!”, she raised her face to look at him. “But you are not a fighter. I can't take you with me. Senris can hold on his own, but I can't risk bringing you to an operation where I can't guarantee your safety.”  
“My love.”, Dirthamen said, trying to hold the fraying edges of his patience. “Has anyone ever told you that Evanuris were generals first, before we became kings? Every one of us, me included. It is true that it has been long time since I had to use those talents, but I know which end of the blade to hold. And I say that doing what Falon'Din wants is suicidal. For all that I know, he has probably built a trap for you to harvest lyrium. Just like he did to your Sister. “  
“What options I have?”, Roshan spread her arms. “Viviel blames me for everything, and she is right!”  
“You are not your sister's keeper. “, Dirthamen said mercilessly, jumping down from the wall. “Both she and your mother are grown women. The issue is between them and Falon'Din. Did you tell my brother to hurt them? Or destroy your village?”  
Roshan shook her head.  
“They were under his jurisdiction to do so.”, Dirthamen pointed out.  
“But it still doesn't make it right. You blame Viviel for what she did to you. It was wrong, I acknowledge it. I hate her for hurting you. But have you ever stopped to think that she didn't have any choice, either?”, Roshan snapped. “It was an order from Falon'Din. Your brother ordered it. It is he you should punish, not Viviel.”  
Dirthamen opened his palm.  
“It is true.”, he nodded. “But in this world, Falon'Din is the king, and your sister is a slave. Their rights are not the same.”  
“I was a slave.”, Roshan said harshly. “You bonded a slave. Do you still think I'm somehow different than every other person walking on this ground? Is that how you console yourself? You, a mighty Evanuris, falling in love with a slave. How embarrassing. I assure you, Dirthamen, that I did not change the moment Geldauran burned the markings off my face. It changed my blood, but not my heart, and not my humanity.”  
Dirthamen did not reply. His face was neutral, and quiet, as he listened her words.  
“Go back to sleep, Roshan.”, he finally said. “You will not get out from my kingdom tonight.”  
“Am I a prisoner, then?”, she asked.  
“No. But I will stand between you and your death, no matter how much you hate me for it.”, Dirthamen replied, and his voice was stern.  
“What if she dies?”, Roshan asked.  
“You told your sister that one woman's life is not worth of breaking the peace treaty. It is still true. I will find another way to accomplish this, but I will not let you go.”  
Roshan looked at Dirthamen, and her fingers holding the sword were shaking.  
“I disagree, vhenan. You found it from your heart to be kind to me before you even knew my name. You did the impossible thing and ended the war to let us be together. If one woman's life was worth all those things, why should it be any different now? My mother is a slave, but her life is not expendable.”  
“You don't know what you are asking from me.”, Dirthamen snapped.  
“I do know, husband. I ask you to do the right thing, for one last time. You can't go on treating others like they were just a cattle. We all are the same inside, kings or fools, slaves or dragons. You have the means. You have the power. You even have a plan to make this right, and let your people go free. Solas wrote it out for you. All you lack is the decision.”  
He looked like he was carved from the stone, Roshan thought. She was not certain if she reached too far, now, and asked the impossible. If she had pushed him too far. But her heart was sore, and hurting, and right now she couldn't face the future of becoming a tyrant queen by his side. Dirthamen was not the worst of Evanuris, but he was not benevolent, either. He killed Inolan, and she accepted it quietly. But did it have to be this way? Was there truly no other way to live than wield your power like a weapon over those who couldn't resist?  
Geldauran, for all her faults, gave much more freedom to her children than Mythal, and unlike Mythal, Geldauran had a direct hold over them through the song of lyrium. The Nameless elves in the north had their own society, and own rules. They were not dragon-worshippers, Geldauran said, even if she was dubbed “Queen of the Nameless” by citizens of Elvhenan. Roshan didn't know whether Geldauran spoke the truth, but she knew that the crown on her head was a trinket from a dusty box.  
“Are you angry at me?”, Roshan asked quietly. There were times when her past experiences made her uncertain whether she had overstepped her bounds. When he was like this, distant and regal and cold, he reminded her too much about Falon'Din, and she was afraid.  
“Vhenan?”, she asked, reaching for him through their bond. She took a step closer, then another, until she stood in front of him. She felt conflicting emotions flooding from him, and her own uncertainty took over. Maybe he was angry at her.  
Dirthamen sighed.  
“No, gaidhalas.”, he said, and kissed her forehead. “But I need to think. Go to sleep, Roshan, and promise me you won't leave anywhere tonight. We should talk about this in the morning, when both of us are less tired.”  
“Are you coming?”, Roshan asked as she turned to leave.  
“Later, vhenan.”, Dirthamen said.  
He stayed behind, and when Roshan finally fell asleep hours later, his side of the bed was still empty.

 

She woke up later in the night to see Dirthamen sitting on the edge of bed, watching her.  
“It's complicated issue.”, Dirthamen said, sounding tired. “I understand what you want. I understand why you want it, and I agree it would be the right thing to do. But it was very hard for me to admit to myself that I love you. I tried to call it something else for a very long time, because I even though I saw you as a person, I felt like I should not. Changing that took years, and I can't say if I ever would have done it without you. My subjects or the other Evanuris would not have a similar advantage. “  
“Are you worried what they would do?”, Roshan asked, rubbing sleep off her eyes.  
“Yes. If I declared all slaves freed, some of my nobles would rebel. I would have to devote a significant number of my army to keep peace in the realm. The neighbouring realms would find out, and there would be questions about my true allegiance. Whether it was the Nameless queen who ruled, or I. You know the peace treaty insisted on not giving you any power in Elvhenan.”  
“I never wanted to be a queen. I'm just fine being your wife.”, Roshan said practically.  
Dirthamen gave her a small smile and continued:  
“My realm depends from grain trade from other kingdoms. We have sheep aplenty, but the mountains are not fertile enough to feed the people. I knew this when I chose to settle here, but the population was much smaller then, and the location is central. I gave valleys to Falon'Din, because I thought I would have easier time negotiating the trades with everyone. Being on good terms with people is not one of his strengths.”  
“And you think that if you ended slavery, your people would starve.”, Roshan finished.  
“Yes.”, Dirthamen admitted. “Be honest, Roshan. Slaves do the jobs nobody else wants. Why would anyone want to spend their whole lives scrubbing and cleaning and dealing with shit stains? If I released them, nobody would wash my bathroom. Well, maybe mine, but not the butchers', or the seamstress', or anyone else not very well off. The impact would be felt through all social classes, not only the nobility. Slaves enable even the poorest free person to feel better about himself, because he knows he is not at the bottom.”  
“It isn't very uplifting from slave's point of view.”, Roshan said dryly. “And you forget that slaves have hierarchy among themselves, too. In my home village, becoming a slave for Evanuris was considered a prestigious fate. Those with no skills or family to fall back on are often far more unfortunate than slaves.”  
She sat up, trying to wrap her sleepy mind around the problem.  
“I'm not saying we should upheaval the whole society, yet.”, she said. “Being free is frightening. It may sound silly, but Falon'Din once told me that I couldn't handle freedom, and at the time, I agreed with him. I hated myself for doing so, but I did. A slave is never expected to take responsibility for her own fate. You just do things someone tells you to do. If they end badly, it wasn't your fault. It's hard to relearn a different mindset. I think I'm still trying, for myself.”  
Dirthamen nodded quietly.  
“What do you propose, then?”  
“Could we offer a limited route to become free? An option?”, Roshan suggested. “You could make it so that every child born in your realm, including the children of slaves, would be free. Or a slave could earn his freedom after a set number of years, or as a favour after some particular achievement. Both options sound insignificant enough not to draw hostile attention from other kingdoms, but they would change the society slowly.”  
“I think I can do something like that.”, Dirthamen said, looking at her. “It's not what you wanted, but it is a beginning.”  
He pulled off his shirt, and dropped it on a floor, starting to remove his trousers.  
“If you are planning to end slavery, you should learn to pick up your own clothes.”, Roshan noted.  
“Or I will simply have to go around naked.”, Dirthamen said brightly. “Think about it, gaidhalas. Everyone would admire me for my noble character and ability to go without for the greater good. Especially ladies.”  
Roshan rolled her eyes.  
“You are turning into Anaris, vhenan.”  
Dirthamen stopped in middle of motion.  
“What horrifying thought.”, he said. “Are you certain that your inner dragon is not leaking?”  
“It could be.”, Roshan shrugged, grinning. “Have you had any urges to eat sheep lately? I could ring a bell and ask servants to bring you a fluffy alpaca. If you bite one, it's sure sign you are indeed turning into Anaris.”  
“I will bite you instead, you rude creature.”, Dirthamen threatened, and crawled into bed.

–-

Grain production was going up. The coming harvest was predicted to be fifteen percent larger than usually, and Dirthamen's assistant wrote that livestock was thriving… Dirthamen bit his lip lightly, wondering the reason for this sudden strike of luck. He knew that other realms had not had exceptional year. Maybe-  
There was a sudden sound of glass breaking behind Dirthamen, and he startled.  
“Hello.”, the dragon said cheerily, pushing her head through the hole in the window. She stretched her long neck until she managed to drop a piece of wet parchment on Dirthamen's desk. “Mother sent you scratches on parchment. It tastes bad.”  
Dirthamen loved his wife. But his wife the dragon was another matter entirely. The dragon was peculiar creature with no regards to conventional manners or rules. The dragon thought herself at the top of the food chain. She was possessive, self-indulgent and prone to setting his papers to fire if she felt she didn't have his full attention. Dirthamen thought she had much in common with five-year-old spoiled child. Dealing with tyrannical dragon would have been irksome, but she was, much to Dirthamen's amusement, rather stupid and easy to manipulate. It was a joy, because his wife was always mortified to hear how Dirthamen had fooled the dragon this time. She usually blushed, feeling deathly embarrassed, and tried to hide under the covers, begging him to not tell her. Dirthamen greatly enjoyed the gentle teasing. It was fun.  
“Did you chew it?”, he asked with disdain, staring at the drool spreading on his desk.  
“I don't have pockets, you stupid drake.”, the dragon sniffed.  
 Dirthamen took the wet letter, and pried the parchment open with magic to avoid touching it. Dragon's drool was nightmare to get off.

_Dear son-in-law,_

_your difficulties at keeping your dick in your pants are causing serious problems to my training schedule. The classroom is accessible only in dragon form. Dragons are creatures of feeling and instinct, with little reason especially when they are still young. Do I need to say more?_  
_My daughter is torn up about your decision to imprison that hussy woman, and at the same time she hardly can stomach seeing her strut around the garden with big belly. Dutiful little dragon she is, of course she thinks it is her duty to see to her sister's welfare personally, even if it means she receives nothing but insults and detailed pregnancy progression reports from this Viviel. She would die before saying a single word to you about this, because the bitch is her sister, and my daughter feels bad about what happened to that village. But it's been a month, and my tongue is getting really sore for licking her scales._  
_Do something about this or I'll bite your troublesome parts off._  
_With love, your mother-in-law._

_P.S. As for your other problem, it's really simple. Take few weeks off and make an autumn rampage. South is pretty at this time of the year. As long as you don't ruin the course of nature with another infertility spell, it should be fine._

 

Dirthamen looked up from the slimy parchment.  
“Your mother says you are unhappy.”, Dirthamen remarked, floating the letter into trash bin.  
“Oh, I'm not. I just tell her so that she would lick my scales. They get so shiny.”, the dragon replied, turning her head to admire her horns from the reflection. “You should find me a mirror. Big silver mirror, so I could see myself better.”  
“I'll send someone to bring you a mirror at once.”, Dirthamen promised in deadpan voice.  
“The weather is fine today. We should go flying outside, and search for a better nest. I still can't find my another drake.”, the dragon continued.  
“I've been thinking about something else.”, Dirthamen said, making up his mind. “Do you remember Solas?”  
“Yes. He tried to sleep with mother, but I drove him away, because it is my place to sleep under her wing. I lit his coat tails in fire, once.”, the dragon said happily. “He was so impressed that he painted a fresco of me and mother. Anaris claims it was out of spite, but I know _better._ ”  
The dragon hummed, sounding smug.  
“I like the pretty picture. There is a big red dragon, and then a pretty golden dragon. It's me and mother. There is no picture of Anaris, and he is jealous.”  
“Yes, but do you remember when we talked about slavery few weeks ago?”  
“I remember speaking about alpacas, and how you wanted to bite them, but then you bit me.”, the dragon said. “It was very nice to mate with you, even if you were puny and two-legged.”  
“I'm not sure if I should feel insulted.”, Dirthamen said under his breath. “But dear, Solas wrote more 'scratches on parchment' about slave issue which is important to you when you are in your right mind, and I think we should borrow him from my mother.”  
“Doesn't he have anything else to do than fuck everyone's mother?”, the dragon asked. It was getting distracted again by the glass shards.  
“He doesn't fuck my mother.”, Dirthamen felt obligated to point out.  
“How do you know? Your mother is a dragon. Dragons keep harems. I would keep too, if my drakes didn't go missing all the time.”, the dragon pointed out.  
“How unfortunate.”, Dirthamen said without the slightest bit of compassion. “But best way to borrow Solas is to go to Evanuris' gathering at Sylaise's. There is a party tonight, and a meeting tomorrow. I could ask for Solas tomorrow, and then we would continue to Falon'Din's, and demand he returns… “, Dirthamen took a second to find the wording dragon would accept “..the mother of your two-legged puny version.”  
“I don't want to bite Falon'Din.”, the dragon said sullenly.  
“I agree. You definitely should not bite Falon'Din.”, Dirthamen said. “How did you even get such a stupid idea?”  
“It isn't mine. It's Mother's. She says I should, because of the blood.”  
“What blood?”  
“Where is my mirror?”, dragon evaded the question. “You promised to send someone at once, and I've been here waiting for _ages_.”  
“I could give you another gift. A new dress.”, Dirthamen suggested.  
The dragon beamed.  
“Yes, please.”, it said, sounding pleased.  
“It's for you smaller form.”, Dirthamen reminded.  
“I don't mind.”, the dragon said airily. “I like presents. And I like dresses. When I grow up, I'm going fill my nest with all the pretty things.”  
Dirthamen had not thought this would be so easy. He made a mental note to suggest all social engagements to his-wife-the-dragon from now on.

\--

“Fornicating with a slave is embarrassing enough, but calling her his wife… Despicable.”, Andruil made no effort trying to hide her distaste when she saw Dirthamen entering the party with his Nameless companion. He was whispering something into slave's ear, undoubtedly to unease the discomfort such creature must feel when brought into company of her betters. They even held hands. Disgusting.  
“It's worse.”, Sylaise hiccuped. She had gotten drunk early, and Andruil could hardly blame her sister for that. She knew Sylaise had been in love with Dirthamen for years and years. Overseeing a sacred ceremony joining the man, who should have been hers, with insolent, escaped slave must have felt devastating.  
“What could be worse than this?”, Andruil asked sharply. “You are being forced to entertain a rabbit in your own hall!”  
“They have been married for almost a century.”, Sylaise said in thick voice. Andruil couldn't say if it was tears or alcohol which slurred her words. “He made me do the bonding ceremony years ago. The one after peace treaty was a fluke. Once was bad enough, but doing it twice was just.. unfair.”  
“What?”, Andruil was actually surprised. “He was bonded to slave already?”  
Sylaise nodded tearfully, gesturing for more wine.  
“The gall of her!”, Andruil hissed, standing up. “How long she and the rest of the Nameless snakes have played us for fools? What was the use of negotiating peace treaty, if they already held one of us by cock already? Bloody sluts !”  
“Andruil--”, Sylaise tried, but the Huntress was already making her way through the crowd.

“Are you sure this was a good idea?”, Roshan asked unhappily from Dirthamen as he helped a cloak off her shoulders and handed it to a waiting slave.  
“You are my wife, and heir of your own empire. You can't avoid social engagements with my brethren forever. They are your equals. ”, Dirthamen said smoothly.  
“I wouldn't call a snowy cave with few rocks an empire.”, Roshan glared at him, tugging her red dress. “And if I'm supposed to fill some diplomatic function, what was wrong with wearing my perfectly fine armour? It is the official garb for the Nameless meeting a hostile enemy force.”  
Dirthamen smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.  
“Ah, my love, but I was simply afraid I might get wounded when we dance. Your armour has so many sharp edges.”  
“Dance? I don't know how to dance!”, Roshan's eyes widened in panic. “They never danced at Falon'Din's temple parties! Why didn't you say anything?! I never would have come if you had only told me!”  
Dirthamen's smile deepened, and he was going to say something when Roshan saw Andruil approaching.  
“You!”, the Huntress pointed at her. “Since when we have allowed animals to attend?”  
Dirthamen turned around, and the smile vanished from his face.  
“I hope you did not refer to my wife, Andruil. If you did, I'd have you know that your remark was entirely uncalled for. And a breach for the peace treaty we've sworn to uphold.”  
“Are you really such a rabbit you can't even speak for yourself? Or maybe you simply don't know how.”, Andruil ignored Dirthamen, focusing on Roshan.  
Roshan felt angry resentment building inside her. She had been right. Coming here had been a stupid idea. It would have been better to break inside Falon'Din's temple to save her mother, even if Dirthamen wanted to try asking first. And now she could see Falon'Din smirking at her across the room, pleased to see she was not welcome here.  
“I think we haven't met before. It must be because you your people spent over a hundred years trying to find one escaped slave and failed. What a Huntress you are. ”, Roshan said disdainfully. She knew how to do it; Falon'Din used similar tone most of the time when he spoke those below him.  
Dirthamen recognised it, too, because the corners of his mouth twitched and he quickly hid it behind his hand. Andruil saw his smirk, and her hand shot forwards to strike him. Before Roshan even thought of it, the years and years of Unfallen training kicked in. She saw a perceived threat and moved to stop it, pushing herself between Andruil and Dirthamen as she shook her sleeve, dropping a switchblade in her hand.

A slap echoed in the room. There was an angry red mark on Roshan's face, and her face ached. Andruil packed quite a bunch; she would have a horrible bruise by tomorrow. But she held her switchblade against the vulnerable soft flesh of Andruil's arm pit; it was the structural weakness in the type of armour Andruil favoured. Protected by magic, of course, but the blades forged in Void cut through magic barriers with ease.  
“Take a step back.”, Roshan commanded, pushing the blade a bit further in.  
“Oh, bring it on, slave bitch.”, Andruil breathed.  
<No. Withdraw, withdraw!>, Roshan heard Dirthamen's shaken voice in her head, but she didn't move.  
“You should have gone for throat.”, Falon'Din broke the tension with his familiar lazy drawl. “On the other hand, striking an Evanuris is mortal crime. Why you always end in these situations, sister dear?”  
He stood on the right, looking amused. Unfallen flanked him, as always.  
“Roshan is not a subject to our laws. According to peace treaty, my wife operates under diplomatic immunity and the laws of her own people.”, Dirthamen said too sharply.  
“I demand a duel.”, Andruil announced, a vicious glimmer in her dark eyes. “If I recall Mythal's sermons, anyone may challenge the ruling queen of the Nameless or her heir at any time and if they win, they get the position.”  
Roshan had never faced Andruil in a fight. But she had heard the stories, and Unfallen were expected to study the favoured tactics and skills of all other Evanuris since they were the most likely threats to Falon'Din's security. Most of what she had learned about Anaris or Gelduran during her years of service had not proved to be accurate, since the dragons didn't usually appear on field. It was likely that the intelligence on Andruil was more sound. It was more than likely that Roshan couldn't beat her, not without a time to prepare or even proper weapons and armour and the field of her choosing. She couldn't risk that. But if she had to fight, a trickery might save her ass.  
Opening her mouth, she looked at Andruil and said slowly:  
“It is true, but you can't rely on fancy bow. The ruler of the Void is always a dragon, and the duel is fought in the form of divine. You would have bet your form against mine.”  
“I think I can take that risk.”, Andruil smiled, and her white teeth flashed. “On the yard in five minutes, slave. The duel is on.”  
Falon'Din clapped his hands in joy.  
“Excellent! I didn't think this dull party would offer such amusement. To the yard, everyone!”, he shouted, and Sylaise's guests headed outside.

  
“I will not see you die.”, Dirthamen warned as Roshan walked past him towards the entrance. He gripped her arm, forcing her stop.  
“You can't fight my fights for me.”, she said quietly to Dirthamen. “I will not have you ridiculed for the rest of our lives because you bonded me.”  
“I can survive Andruil's hostility and Sylaise's pointed jokes, but I can't survive your death.”, he said, not letting go.  
“But your people won't.”, Roshan blurted, saying out the thing she had tried not to think about. “Your kingdom depends on trade from Sylaise's fields and Falon'Din's lands. I won't let your people starve because you married a wrong person.”  
Dirthamen looked at her.  
“Our people, gaidhalas.”, he said, leaning forwards to press a kiss on her forehead. “Our people are resourceful lot. They will find alternative ways.”  
“Don't worry, vhenan.”, she whispered. “I have a plan.”  
  
-

 

“That is a _girl_ dragon, you stupid drake.”, the golden dragon informed Dirthamen. “It's red, like mother. It lacks necessary parts for making hatchlings. I know the difference between boys and girls.”  
Dirthamen wanted to run the palms of his hands along his face, but the clock was ticking. Roshan had been right. Her idea was likely to work, but selling it to annoyed dragon who had intelligence of five-year-old was the hard part. But then, Dirthamen reminded himself, he had pushed two hostile factions into peace treaty nobody had wanted. He could sweet-talk a highly naive dragon to doing his bidding. The other option was watching Andruil kill his wife.  
“I know, sweet.”, he softened his voice, stroking the scaled head. She had grown monstrously in last few months. Dirthamen knew Geldauran was teaching his wife in the Void daily, but what the lessons were about, she never told. “But you always say that you need more drakes, and she is a good hunter. She could hunt Daern'thal for you and bring him back. We could stay in the nest. Your mother wouldn't like it if you went flying around Elvhenan.”  
The dragon considered it.  
“She wouldn't like it.”, the golden dragon admitted. “But I don't want to have a girl drake. Sister would laugh at me.”  
“Andruil's lands are filled with wonderful beasts like nowhere else. They are very tasty. When our babies are born, I could stay with you and the hatchlings, and she could bring us food. I know you don't like eating cows.”, Dirthamen suggested.  
The dragon gave him a dirty look.  
“You lie.”, she said. “You want me to take a girl drake because you want to father all my hatchlings.”  
“But I do.”, Dirthamen spread his arms. “I love you. I can't help it. Do this as a favour for me. She can bring you food, and hunt your prey, and kill your enemies. I know she's very good at those things. And I can keep you myself.”  
He could tell that the dragon was wavering. Open love confessions always worked on her.  
“I could mark Senris. He could do all those things, too.”, the dragon tried. “He smells like he likes me. I can tell, even though he wouldn't say it.”  
“But it would make me sad to share you.”, Dirthamen said tearfully. He even wiped the corner of his eye theatrically. Mentally, he made a note to get rid of Senris, no matter what father said. If the dragon was able to recall his name, the man probably reeked like desire.  
“We are starting!”, Falon'Din yelled. Mentally, Dirthamen cursed his brother.  
“Shouldn't I bite him, instead? Mother would be pleased. She wants me to mark Falon'Din.”, the dragon asked uncertainly.  
Dirthamen was surprised, and not in nice way. Geldauran must have been talking at length about this for the dragon to remember it. His wife the dragon scarcely remembered anything longer than five minutes. Except unmarked males, it looked like. Not good.  
“You don't want to mark someone who treats dragons so badly. Remember what happened to Sister.”, he pointed out.  
“Are you really sure about this?”, the dragon asked, ignoring Andruil who was already screeching a challenge on opposite end of the yard. It was time to seal the deal. Dirthamen knew just how to do it.  
“She tried to attack me.”, Dirthamen said in hurt, frightened voice, and he saw the dragon's black eyes lit up in rage. He duck down just in time to avoid the swooshing tail when the dragon turned to face Andruil.

It was like watching fight between a war dog and really, really pissed off terrier, Dirthamen thought dazedly. Andruil was at least twice the size of golden dragon, and much more skilled fighter. But what the golden dragon lacked in size and skill, she made up with ferocity and sheer ruthlessness. Ignoring Andruil's fire breath, she first shot up in the sky, and then bomb-dived down, crashing against the red dragon.  
The red dragon screamed as the golden dragon fell on it, and Dirthamen saw red droplets falling on the mosaic covering Sylaise's yard. The golden dragon had sunk her teeth deep on Andruil's neck. Andruil tried to shake the smaller dragon off her back, but she suddenly froze in the middle of the flight.

He had thought Andruil would fall, but she didn't. Andruil fought herself free from golden dragon's hold instead, and made a few ornamental flips in the air. It looked very strange, Dirthamen thought after Andruil's third somersault. It was like she was showing off her flight skills, or then it was the most complicated attack pattern ever seen in Elvhenan. It ended with Andruil lifting her head high, and screaming a series of eerie notes which made Dirthamen's ears ring. Stars, she was a terrible singer.

The golden dragon stared at Andruil, and Dirthamen thought he heard his wife say something like “Oh, fucking shit”, in draconic before she spurted off, flying away as fast as her wings could take her. The red dragon followed, as fast as an arrow, and it took mere moments before they both vanished behind the horizon.

 

 


	24. The duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is our duty to save him.”, Vunora turned to look at him. “Even from himself. Don't you agree?”  
> “What are you planning, Vunora?”, Shathor asked in low voice.  
> “I know Ghilan'nain has been continuing her research to find a weapon against the Nameless. I've seen the letters she has sent to our lord. In her last missive, she wrote that she has created a promising substance called the Blight, which empowers the blood thousandfold, and it's extremely poisonous to dragons.”, Vunora said. “We will break into laboratory, find a sample of this 'Blight', and help Lavellan kill Andruil if she agrees to save our lord.”

When Vunora saw the girl taking the form of divine, she knew Lavellan was going to die. The golden dragon was much smaller than Andruil's fierce red beast, and no match for the Huntress. Shathor knew it too. Vunora saw his shoulders drop when their lord called the fight to begin.  
“It's fucking unfair.”, Shathor grunted under his breath as the Unfallen stood side by side, watching Dirthamen talk to golden dragon in the opposite end of the courtyard.  
“He is making some kind of show of this, again.”, Vunora said with disgust when Dirthamen spread his arms, still talking to dragon in low voice. “Always looking for profit. He should not have brought her here in the first place, and not to set her against someone she can't beat.”  
“Maybe this was his plan all along.”, Isenril sniffed spitefully. “Kill Lavellan and take over the Nameless.”  
Shathor barked a dry laugh.  
“You weren't there to see them going on like rabbits in our lord's kitchen garden.”, he noted. “Lord Dirthamen is just too proud to admit he's going to be beaten. And his soldiers aren't worth of shit.”  
“Yeah. One of them should have taken the hit instead of Lavellan.”, Isenril crossed his arms over his chest.  
“They couldn't. They all are way too slow.”, Shathor replied, and then the golden dragon attacked.

Lavellan tried. Vunora could see that. But there was hollowness in her heart as she watched the golden dragon tear at Andruil's neck. Being fast and ferocious didn't take a soldier far enough when her opponent was twice as strong and far more experienced.  
“Enchantment?”, Isenril asked with interest when Andruil started to sing.  
“It hardly matters.”, Shathor said darkly. “Tricks may buy her few moments, but they won't save her.”  
As on cue, the golden dragon took flight towards west, and Andruil followed in her wake. The hunt was on, and everyone knew how it would end. Vunora watched the dragons disappear in distance, and made up her mind.  
“Isenril. Attend our lord. I must see to prince Tarlin.”, she said calmly. “Shathor, follow me.”  
Isenril nodded, and Vunora turned away, heading towards the eluvian chamber.  
She knew that Falon'Din would not appreciate what she was going to do. But then… She would not leave a rat to Andruil's tender graces, much less one of their own. They owed Lavellan, for Natha.

\--

“Your lover is going to die.”, Fear croaked in Dirthamen's ear.  
“You will spend the rest of your days alone, suffering in endless misery.”, Deceit promised, perching on his other shoulder. “She likes Senris better than you. They have more in common. And he has muscles.”  
“Oh, shut up, both of you.”, Dirthamen snapped. “Go find her.”  
He sent the ravens away with angry gesture.  
“Your pets are cheery creatures.”, Falon'Din remarked. “Uncommonly shrewd ones, too, for stupid birds. Why do you put up with them?”  
“They were a bonding gift from my wife.”, Dirthamen said, unwilling to explain the demon part.  
“A raven pie after the duel is finished, perhaps.”, Falon'Din suggested lazily. “Well, we should retire inside and get something to drink while we wait for Andruil. Maybe you find someone else to catch your eye.”  
“You underestimate my Roshan.”, Dirthamen lifted up his chin. “She is a very resourceful woman.”  
“Dirth, I've known Lavellan far longer than you. Since she was just a kid of ten years or so, and I gave her to Vunora to raise.”, Falon'Din rolled his eyes. “I fail to see the attraction. But it worked to get Vunora over her first born whom you fed to the lizards, and Lavellan was not bad at her job. Until you ruined her, of course.”  
“Oh? _I_ ruined her? You were the one who sent her to kill Geldauran at first place!”, Dirthamen couldn't believe the gall of his twin. Daring to accuse him for ruining Roshan? _Falon'Din_ was the one who had started this whole mess!  
“Yes.”, Falon'Din nodded serenely. “It is my unfortunate lot in life always to try to save you from yourself, even at considerable expense as losing a fully trained Unfallen. Lavellan was supposed to be Vunora's replacement if anything happened, you see. All that work, and what do I get? A pile of dragon shit after Andruil eats her. But if this is what it takes to free you from the Nameless mind control, I'm willing to write off the loss. ”  
Dirthamen punched him.

\--

Vunora's armoured boots made a sharp noise against the black stone of Falon'Din's temple floor as she walked. Shathor followed by her side.  
“There is an important matter concerning our lord.”, Vunora began. “After dragons withdrew, and he lost his lyrium supply, he has been unwell.”  
“Unwell meaning what?”, Shathor asked.  
Vunora closed her eyes, taking a moment before she answered:  
“He spends too much time in the Fade, and lately my lord has been unable to tell whether he is dreaming or awake. He is fatigued, suffers from headaches, and his skin is cold like ice. The waking blends with dreams. He fights it, bravely, but...”  
Vunora's throat felt tight, but she kept her voice steady as she said:  
“Last week he no longer recognized my son.”  
Shathor's eyes widened.  
“Oh, fenedhis lasa.”, he cursed, sounding shocked. “Why didn't you say anything?”  
“It is not my place to tell, if he chooses not to.”, Vunora snapped. “Do you think I haven't tried find a way to help him? Falon'Din is proud, and valiant, and will not let anyone see his suffering. He has attempted to rid himself from that cursed lyrium four times now, but has not succeeded, and the stocks are running low. There are less than a dozen bottles left.”  
She drew a hurt, shuddering breath, and went on:  
“I begged him to take the cursed vial, _on my knees,_ when he kept asking where our baby was, and if Tarlin was Chosen Mathras' new apprentice. This whole thing is my fault. I was the one who told him when Natha found that sleeping lizard from the Nameless lands.”  
“What has been done has been done.”, Shathor said hoarsely, trying to give what comfort he could. “I'm sorry, Vunora. I know you are close to our lord. But you must remember he makes his own decisions. It was your duty to tell him.“  
“It is our duty to save him.”, Vunora turned to look at him. “Even from himself. Don't you agree?”  
“What are you planning, Vunora?”, Shathor asked in low voice.  
“I know Ghilan'nain has been continuing her research to find a weapon against the Nameless. I've seen the letters she has sent to our lord. In her last missive, she wrote that she has created a promising substance called the Blight, which empowers the blood thousandfold, and it's extremely poisonous to dragons.”, Vunora said. “We will break into laboratory, find a sample of this 'Blight', and help Lavellan kill Andruil if she agrees to save our lord.”

\--

“The route to Blessed Sylaise's realm is open, my lady.”, one of Mythal's sentinels stepped aside. Solas had not seen him before. The man wore a hooded cloak over a golden armour, and he had the most magnificent thighs ever seen on Elvhenan. The whispers said that he was the new favourite and the reason why Mythal had spent most of the last century secluded in Arbor Wilds. Whether the rumours were true, Solas did not know. This invitation to accompany Mythal was first he had received after the peace treaty and his return to Elvhenan.  
Mythal smiled at the sentinel, and Solas thought he saw a hint of fondness in her eyes.  
“Thank you, Abelas.”, she said, and stepped through a mirror. The man, Abelas, followed her, and after him Mythal's entourage. Solas was not among the high-ranking of the company, so he waited.

Adjusting to life in Elvhenan had been very hard to Solas, and he found himself missing Geldauran. The feeling was entirely unexpected, but it lingered nonetheless. Or maybe, Solas thought, he didn't miss Geldauran but the Void. For a freezing, empty place where people lost their hair, it was not without worth. There had been certain sort of companionship between people who lived there, and less difference between those who had power and those who did not. Anaris' definition of slavery had been to ask Solas to watch over his eggs and play with his dragonlings once they hatched. The life he returned to in Elvhenan was vastly different.  
He had been in Elvhenan for six weeks, and Mythal had not called for him even once. His lady stayed in her summer palace in far south, Solas had been informed, and his services were not required at the time. Solas knew he had failed his mission to kill Lavellan, but surely Mythal had to see the wisdom in peace treaty. One woman's life was such a small price for peace which would save thousands. His lady's son had returned to his family and bonded a woman he loved. Truth had been difficult to accept, at first, but at some point during the long years in the Void Solas had finally accepted that a bond between him and Lavellan would never have worked out. Lavellan loved Dirthamen, and much to Solas' surprise, he loved her back, genuinely. And Solas could not help but wonder. If the world was indeed changing into one where an Evanuris could marry a slave, and there was a peace between ancient enemies, maybe a day would come when his life's work, the treatise to free the slaves, would become reality.

When Solas' turn finally came, and he walked through the mirror to the Crossroads, it soon became clear that today was not that day. He almost stumbled against the burning barrier erected by sentinels around Mythal. He retreated hastily, noticing the strange coldness in the air, and felt relieved when he noticed Mythal standing inside the circle. She was looking towards the stone path leading to Sylaise's lands in central Elvhenan, but she did not make even slightest effort to move. Solas followed her gaze, and sucked in a breath.

The mirrors in the eastern section of the Crossroads were warping and glowing blue.

\--

“Lieutenant commander Souren. Proceed with the front guard to secure the way to our lord.”, Senris gave the order with his usual blank expression. The lieutenant commander nodded eagerly, and led his squad into dark forest. Elgar'nan snickered, because he knew what would follow. Senris did not pay any attention to his mirth, but his ears twitched ever so slightly as he turned to bow to Elgar'nan.  
“My lord. Permission to scout ahead?”  
“Why?”, Elgar'nan asked evilly. “Didn't you just send lieutenant commander and my entire front guard to search Sylaise's forest? Which has one of the most active roads between her kingdom and Arlathan, and guard patrols passing through the area every half an hour?”  
“Yes, my lord.”, Senris nodded.  
“Then why? I'm fairly certain that there are no Nameless hiding in behind the tree and just waiting to jump at me.”, Elgar'nan said ironically.  
“One can never be certain, my lord.”, Senris stated, holding his hands behind his back.  
“Oh, well. If you have to.”, Elgar'nan rolled his eyes. “But be quick about it. I don't want to miss the party.”  
“Thank you for your foresight, my lord.”, Senris replied evenly. “Captain Nehin. Take the command.”

 

The forest was well familiar to Senris. It was true what his lord said; the area was commonly thought secure enough to send a toddler to walk alone from Sylaise's palace to Arlathan. But Senris had not become the leader of Elgar'nan's armed forces by being too trusting, and he held little faith in lieutenant commander who had risen to his rank because his noble father, marquis Telahmis, and not solely for his skill. The last group of commanders-in-training had been hugely disappointing in Senris' opinion. It was not his place to judge his lord's noble followers, but he couldn't help but think that they would have benefited from being little less trusting every now and then. Senris trusted nothing and no-one, and certainly not luck when it came to protecting his lord. Elgar'nan might joke about it, but the Nameless assassins hiding behind the trees--  
Senris' gaze turned towards the great looming oak, and he stopped to mouth the words of detection spell, when something golden flashed in the corner of his view, and huge surge of magic made his spell spike. Senris' vision turned into electric blue, and he quickly slammed his body down on the ground, casting the first spell coming to his mind to burn through the power before it burnt him. It was very simple cantrip he had learned at his parents' farm in the days before war and Elgar'nan, designed to make flowers bloom.

Senris was on his feet again instantly, sword already drawn, when he saw _her_ approaching through the suddenly sprouted field of flowers. Lavellan trailed her hand over the poppies, and there was a faint blue glow shining around her as she walked. Her red dress, Senris noticed, was torn and ruined beyond repair. It would not be considered a respectable attire to meet other people. Except his lord's son, her husband. Maybe. Senris swallowed, holding the hilt of his sword a bit tighter. The scent of poppies felt almost overwhelming. His whole body was tingling even through his armour. Maybe, Senris thought dazedly, channelling his sudden excess magic into making a whole field of narcotic flowers had not been the wisest choice.  
“I'm in a middle of a duel with no armour or a secondary weapon.”, Lavellan said. “I thought to rob one of the guards, but then I saw you, and I know you have at least one of those instant armour cubes in your pocket. I need it before Andruil finds me. Please.”  
There were scratch marks on her pale skin, and a wound on her cheekbone which was bleeding. He could see the trail of blood disappear down her collarbone and a hint of pale breast behind the poppies. Senris tried not to breathe, because the tingling seemed to grow stronger by moment.  
“The poppies.”, he barked urgently, lifting a glove on his face to shield his nose and mouth.  
“But--”, she tried, but Senris could not afford to listen.  
Making up his mind, he caught Lavellan's hand and started to run, pulling her after him. She followed for few clumsy steps, but didn't keep up the speed like usually. Senris glanced back, and saw her face was twisted and pale with pain.  
“She bit my leg.”  
Wanting to curse but not daring to exhale because it would mean having to draw another deep breath, Senris quickly took a step forwards and slipped his arm under her legs, lifting Lavellan in bridal carry before staring to run out of poisoned field. The scent of magic poppies was starting to make his head buzz even though he tried not to breathe. With added weight, it was impossible not to inhale tainted air. Lavellan's legs were bare, and Senris could feel the softness of her breasts pressing against his armour. He prayed his lord would come and relieve him of this burden, and he also prayed his lord would not find them, because Senris didn't know how he would ever survive this. Being found carrying lord Dirthamen's naked wife through the field of flowers Senris had personally created – the damned flowers matched the colour of her shredded dress – would not ensure lord Dirthamen for the fact that Senris did not have and had never had any unprofessional feelings towards Lavellan. His foot hit a hole, and he corrected his balance instinctively, taking a more secure hold of his burden. Senris realized he was cupping her bare bottom, and he stopped dead, accidentally taking a deep breath. Heat spread through his body, and his vision swam again with electric blue.  
“Senris.”, Lavellan's voice cut through the mist. “Senris? Are you all right?”  
“The poppies. Poisoned.”, he cried out, trying to put her down, but his hands wouldn't obey. It was like his fingers were paralysed. Lord Dirthamen was going to kill him.  
“Senris. Look at me. They are just flowers.”, Lavellan's firm voice made him to open his eyes. She was looking up to him with worried expression. They were still standing in the sea of poppies, and she was glowing blue. Behind her, Senris could see their path through the flowers, and it looked like the poppies he had run through were pollinating.  
“I was trying to tell you that I need a weapon and armour. Andruil will be here soon, and I have to transform.”, she said. Her skin was taking golden tint like dragon's scales, and he felt the change where he touched her skin. Even through Senris heard every word, his focus was stolen by watching her lips move. _Lovely_ , his mind whispered. _So lovely.  
_ “Senris?”, her voice grew alarmed, and her lips parted a bit more, as she struggled to escape his grip. _Strong_ , his mind cooed as his muscles tensed in attempt to hold her. _Beautiful._  
“SENRIS? SENRIS? WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT ARE THESE BLASTED POPPIES?”, Senris heard his lord's angry bellow from the opposite end of the field.  
“Fenedhis lasa.”, he whispered, finally understanding. It was not the poppies. It was Lavellan. The scent of magic messing with his head was coming from her.  
“There is an enchanted armour cube under my breastplate.”, Senris managed to say. “And a dagger tied to my hip. You can take them.”  
“Couldn't you just give them to me?”, she demanded, and her golden eyes sparked with annoyance.  
“No. I would never knowingly risk my lord's safety or his honour. You can have them, if you can get them before my lord arrives to save us both.”, his treacherous mouth announced, and then pressed against Lavellan's soft lips. Her mouth was hot and tasted like blood and magic. Senris heard her curse under her breath when he broke away for air but he kissed her again when her fingers started prying open his armour. His body was on fire where her hands touched him, and he moaned into her mouth. Senris prayed his lord would come to save him before he would commit the most unwise decision to make love to Lord Dirthamen's wife in a field of poppies.

 

Senris had never expected dragon's scales to feel so warm under his hands. Unexpectedly smooth, yet hard, like sharp edge of a sword. But this was how it was meant to be, his foggy mind informed him. She was a dragon, and her beauty was all sharp edges and strength. Lavellan still retained her elven shape, but the scales had climbed all way to her neck. Beautiful. She was easier to hold like this, Senris decided, and bit her neck. She flinched, but then melted in his grasp, turning her head slightly aside to offer her neck. He kissed the spot again. A sudden influx of blue particles rained on him, and his magic spiked almost violently. Senris cursed, pulling her dress down her shoulders as he felled them both down.  
Lavellan was on top of him, and her hand was sliding over bare his hip bone. Senris bit his lip not to moan as she secured the dagger he had promised to him. Her eyes were like molten gold as she looked at him.  
“I'm sorry.”, she said breathlessly as she held the armour cube in her left hand. Her right hand was still resting on his hip bone, and Senris was busily calculating on how to shift to make her move few inches to left. “But the dragon likes you very much. And she says that you can have us if you win the chase.”, she whispered and moved her weight off him. Senris was not going to let her leave. He sat up, and reached for her, but she pushed him back down. When he felt her lips moving over his hipbone, kissing the soft skin, Senris closed his eyes and knew he was a ruined man. Lord Dirthamen would kill him, and he wouldn't even care.  
For once in his life, he was completely unprepared for sudden, sharp pain of predator's teeth piercing his skin. It came with sudden snap of magic he could not identify, and there was pain, but the feeling of pleasure was far stronger, sending him over the edge. He dug his hands into soft earth, and moaned as his body arched, spilling himself. Gods. And she had not even touched him there.

A sudden scream of another dragon approaching from north brought Senris back to his senses. Lavellan hissed and stood up, activating the armour cube and slipping her stolen dagger inside hilt. Senris watched her transform into a dragon, and the world swam in his eyes. The pain over his hip bone was slowly ebbing away, and he thought he might as well lay here forever. He had no idea how to explain this to his lord.  
“I like you much better than the noisy girl drake.”, the beast said, almost purring, as it towered over Senris.”But I must go. Mother said I shouldn't give up easily. Only the worthiest may win.”  
The dragon gave a lick of forked tongue to Senris' bite wound, and it healed instantly, leaving a silvery scar.  
“SENRIS?”, Elgar'nan's bellow was much closer, and Senris could see the flowers flying in the air.  
“Must go. Good hunting. We may meet again if you catch me.”, the dragon promised, and took flight.  
Blue sparkles fell over the field as she flew off, and Senris' perception started to swim again. At least he managed to pull up his trousers before Elgar'nan crashed in, followed by Captain Nehin and the rear guard.

His lord blinked few times and then stopped where he stood, drawing a deep breath of air filled with lyrium. Elgar'nan's face grew flushed, and Senris took the opportunity to get up. Majority of people behind Elgar'nan seemed similarly distracted, because not one of them commented Senris' state of undress.  
“Where is the front guard and lieutenant commander? Or the rest of you? At least one third is missing.”, Senris asked sharply, trying to establish his authority.  
“They ran off, pursuing the golden dragon. ”, Captain Nehin replied. “We've lost seven women and twenty-three men.”  
“The golden dragon is the one leaking power like this?”, Elgar'nan asked, inhaling more magic as his eyes began to glow with blue light.  
“Yes, my lord.”, Senris said, wondering if his lord did not recognize his daughter-in-law. But the fact that Nameless leaders were dragons had been purposefully kept from the public, and therefore it could be that Elgar'nan had never seen Lavellan in her dragon form.  
He was just about to ask about that, but then a shadow of red dragon fell over them. The beast flew past, tracking her prey.  
“Andruil!”, Elgar'nan exclaimed angrily. “I should have known she would try to steal more power!”  
“We will find the golden dragon before Andruil!”, one of very flustered young sentinels swore. “My lord, send us to bring you victory over all others!”  
“Yes.”, Elgar'nan decided with clouded eyes. “Senris. Do it.”  
“But my lord, the dragon is--”, Senris began, fighting a slippery battle against the lyrium muddling his mind. The silvery scar in his hip throbbed, and he wanted nothing but run off to pursue the dragon. She had said that the worthiest would win. Senris knew he was the best fighter in whole Elvhenan. He could beat Andruil, he could beat all of them and--  
“Silence!”, Elgar'nan snapped. “Forget Sylaise's party, we pursue a higher calling. Men, we are going to catch the golden dragon to protect the citizens of Elvhenan. Find the beast and bring it to me.”

Senris stared when the men began to run after Andruil, leaving him alone with Elgar'nan and Captain Nehin. Fighting to keep himself from succumbing to spell, he slapped his own face so hard it stung. Captain Nehin's eyes were carefully appraising as she stood behind Elgar'nan's back, and Senris could tell she had noted the state of his armour.  
The pain on his face helped, a bit.  
“My lord. You can't pursue the dragon. With your magical prowess, you must understand this is a sex pollen spell of some kind.”, Senris said.  
“Oh, I know. That's how dragons procreate, apparently. Mythal told me that. They are like bees, doing a mating flight and only the fastest competitor gets to fertilize the queen. When I got my hands on that dragon, I will command greater power than Falon'Din with his lyrium stores...”, Elgar'nan's eyes were filled with lust. More for power than for the dragon, Senris thought.  
“My lord! The dragon is your daughter-in-law.”, Senris snapped with more force than it was proper. His hand went to his blade without thinking. “She is _your son's wife_. You can't even consider – what would your wife say? Or your son?”  
“They never need to know.”, Elgar'nan said simply, and turned to Captain Nehin. “Captain, if you--”  
Senris lifted up the dull edge of his weapon behind Elgar'nan's back. Captain Nehin met his eyes over their lord's shoulder, and took a discreet step forwards as Senris swung the dull edge of the blade, knocking Elgar'nan out.

Captain Nehin held unconscious Elgar'nan in her arms. She had caught him before he fell.  
“I will guard our lord and take him away from the polluted area.”, she said calmly. “It is best this way. In his right mind, our lord would be ashamed to even consider something as foul as pursuing his son's wife.”  
“Yes.”, Senris said hoarsely.  
“The rest of the Evanuris might not have similarly devoted servants. Damage control will likely be required.”, the Captain continued.  
“You are correct.”, Senris said. “If you take our lord to safety, I will take it to myself to resolve this situation.”  
“Preferably in a way which does not insult our lord's honour. Or the honour of his esteemed family.”, Captain Nehin said pointedly.  
“Of course.”, Senris replied, feeling rightfully embarrassed. He cleared his throat and said:  
“I deem it best course to find lord Dirthamen and inform him of what's happening. He is Elvhenan representative in Nameless Affairs, and solving the problem falls to him. In several ways.”  
Captain Nehin nodded.  
“It is a good plan.”, she agreed.  
“If he does not kill me, I will commend you for a promotion. The best servants of Evanuris guard their lord's honour even when he is unable to do so.”  
“You'd better hurry up.”, Captain Nehin said. “On our way here, I saw at least two dozen ordinary villagers running after the dragon.”

\--

The party was still going on, but Dirthamen could not enjoy it. His energy was spent trying not to look as anxious as he felt while he waited for news of the duel. Sylaise had been called out by her servants maybe half an hour ago, and he could have bet she had heard something.  
“Likely her servants asking for more vats to collect up pieces Andruil littered all over public garden or something.”, Falon'Din remarked poisonously. Even though the bruise on his jaw had been healed hours ago, he was still on foul mood.  
“Shut up.”, Dirthamen advised.  
“My patience is running thin, brother. What is wrong with you?”, Falon'Din snapped. “Other than Nameless mind control after they brainwashed you in the Void.”  
“Brainwashed?”, Dirthamen turned to look at his twin. “Is that what you think?”  
Falon'Din spread his arms in frustration.  
“What else I'm supposed to think, then? It's obvious. You fancied her, I can understand that. Some companionship is nice. I'm rather fond of Vunora, I freely admit, but I never would have done all the fucked-up things you have done. Like running off to Void, where they tortured you for years, and when you came back, you just cried. It was fucking upsetting! I agreed to peace treaty because mother said it was the only way to save your sanity!”  
Dirthamen prided himself for being rarely taken by surprise, but he had not expected this.  
“Brother.”, he said slowly. “It was not like that at all. I fancied her, yes, but at some point, it changed. It became more. I started to fancy her for other things, too, not just for sex or companionship. She became a person for me. Not just a slave.”  
“Nameless brainwashing.”, Falon'Din announced.  
“That's easy excuse to avoid the truth. But look at me in the eye, and say that your Unfallen, especially Vunora, are not any different than all your other slaves. You just told me that you gave a child for Vunora to raise to help her through the loss of the tribute. What was that, if not a proof for the fact that you cared about her feelings? Slave's feelings?”, Dirthamen asked shrewdly.  
Falon'Din looked slightly unwell. He reached for a goblet.  
“You are saying disturbing things. Stop it.”, Falon'Din accused his twin and emptied a cup of wine.  
“You can't deny the truth once you know it.”, Dirthamen pointed out in sing-song voice. “We are not that different.”  
His brightening mood changed when he saw Sylaise approaching with Senris, of all possible people.  
“What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be somewhere shadowing my father?”, Dirthamen glared at Senris.  
“I just had a word that one third of my guards in the fields have suddenly ran off, and the situation in the countryside is chaotic. Apparently there is an unidentified magical mishap which causes people to lose their minds and forfeit everything in a pursue of a dragon.”, Sylaise said pointedly, looking at Dirthamen. “A golden dragon.”  
“What kind of magical mishap?”, Falon'Din asked interestedly.  
“There is a some kind of dimensional outbreak opening in middle of a road close to communal eluvian leading to eastern section of the Crossroads. Half of my population is trying to run after Lavellan inside the thing, while my remaining soldiers try to keep them out. Roughly half of them try to eliminate the competition by fighting each other with stones, pitchforks and who knows what weapons. Andruil lit my favourite flower garden in fire, and killed at least four villagers in self-defence before she vanished inside the thing.”  
She leaned forwards, looking thunderous.  
“I don't care about the duel. I want this to stop before my whole kingdom is in chaos.”  
Senris, who had been quiet so far, cleared his throat.  
“I would advise immediate action. And not to take others with you. I believe I can prove sufficient assistance.”  
“Oh? Knowing what I know, taking you is like taking a goat to watch over a cabbage garden.”, Dirthamen said harshly. “Falon'Din. Come with me and we'll deal with this. This party was a disaster anyway.”  
“I fear you misjudge the situation.”, Senris interrupted. “I do not believe you can get there without me.”  
Much to Dirthamen's surprise, Sylaise nodded in agreement.

\--

The outbreak was located near the crossroads where wide road led to communal eluvian and another, narrowed path led to forested section up in the mountain. Falon'Din knew that Sylaise's people had built an altar there, where villagers prayed for good luck, children and harvest. But the mountainside was not humble, unadorned path among greenery like Falon'Din remembered. The landscape shone with eerie green of the Fade, and the Beyond was pouring into waking world. He knew the reason. The mountainside reeked of lyrium, even worse than his twin whose presence had made his head throb ever since Dirthamen had entered the party. His mouth watered, and he felt the first pangs of hunger in her belly.  
“It's some kind of breach.”, Falon'Din said to his brother. “Using too much lyrium can puncture the border between waking world and Beyond, making it easier to manifest Dreamer's will in reality.”  
“My wife is not a Dreamer.”, Dirthamen stated the obvious, peering suspiciously to twisting and changing green landscape.  
“Andruil is.”, Falon'Din pointed out, annoyed by his twin's simplicity. For a clever man, Dirthamen could be utterly frustrating when the slave was mentioned. He clung to even faintest mention.  
“I see. I have no wish to enter a waking dream created by her mind. It's bound to be unpleasant.”, his brother said unhappily, and Falon'Din agreed.  
“Not as unpleasant as duelling Andruil on treacherous ground without proper weapons, backup and preparation.”, Senris remarked dryly. “Of course, it is your privilege to avoid any unpleasantness.”  
Dirthamen glared daggers at him, and Falon'Din was somewhat surprised because his twin didn't attempt to tear Senris' head off. Yet.  
“I never said I would not go there.”, Dirthamen replied icily.  
“Good.”, Senris' expression was perfectly blank. “I'm certain your lady wife will appreciate the gesture.”  
The man was shrewd, Falon'Din noted. Senris stepped over the border and vanished into green mist before Dirthamen had time to strangle him. Not wasting another moment, Dirthamen followed father's champion into swirling green.  
Falon'Din sighed and started to call up his barriers. It was more than likely that the idiots would get lost, and he would have to collect them up.  
“My lord!”, the disembodied voice caused by Unfallen helmet called him. The tug on his magic told him it was Shathor.  
“What are you doing there?”, Falon'Din asked sharply. “Where is Vunora?”  
Shathor looked at the ground, and Falon'Din felt a spark of anger when he sensed the uneasiness. It was obvious that they had done something extremely stupid. Maybe Lavellan's rebelliousness was spreading, and he would have to order another purge among his best-loved. He didn't want to, but he did not tolerate failure. He couldn't afford to.  
“Vunora. Tell me where she is, and what have you done.”, he said coldly.  
“Up there. She left at least two hours ago with the Blight, but she hasn't come back out again.”, Shathor whispered, and told the whole story to his lord.  
  
\--

When Roshan first came to Void and marked Dirthamen, Geldauran had said that magic was a matter of intent, and choosing a drake was a matter of will. One could not force what she did not want. The truth in Geldauran's words was painfully clear to her now.  
Roshan was tired, worn out, and her whole body ached. The chase had turned into a fight few hours ago, and it was humiliating to understand she had set up her own defeat. All that time when Andruil had flown after her, chasing her like a drake in heat, the Huntress had practically bathed in lyrium in Roshan's wake. Roshan understood the biological reasoning for strengthening one's pursuers – drakes fought, Geldauran had explained, and sometimes the flight took several days with no stops to eat or sleep – but it had done her a major disservice when the effect of her half-hearted bite mark wore off.

 

She was crawling quietly in the undergrowth, taking care not to make any sound. She didn't know where Andruil was, but she knew the Huntress had to be somewhere close.  
She was just moving her left hand forward when the stony ground around her vanished, turning into an ice-cold lake haunted by biting wind. With no time to react, she fell into an ice hole manifesting under her feet. Sputtering and coughing, Roshan drew some water into her lungs before she understood what had happened. The surface of water had already frozen over again, blocking her way out.  
Kicking with her feet, she chose blindly a direction and swam for few meters. Dragon magic was pain in the ass when she was tired and frightened; not a drop of lyrium to be had. But she had relied on blood magic far longer. It would have to do. Biting once again her already scarred cheek, Roshan tasted the rush, and made a fist. The ice exploded violently on several random spots around the frozen lake, and she pulled herself up through the hole above her head. By sheer luck, it did not happen to be the one where Andruil had been waiting. The Huntress fell down, instead, and Roshan ran to shore before Andruil changed their surroundings again.

The mountain was filled with old shafts and narrow passages. Made by whom, Roshan did not know. She did recall that Sylaise liked pretty jewels, and maybe this place had once used for mining. Or this was just another product of Andruil's mind. There was no way to know whether the mountain had been like this originally, and it didn't matter. In either option, Andruil could crash it over her if the thought simply occurred to her. Roshan had always known Dreamers were dangerous, and that was why Evanuris were Dreamers, but she had never wholly grasped how hopeless it was to fight against one. She was going to die.

It didn't matter where she went, as long as it was away from Andruil. Roshan chose a passage after a passage, always turning towards north. They could play hide and seek in the corridors forever. If she could hide until Andruil had spent all her newly gained lyrium, or until the Huntress grew bored with her and went somewhere else, she might survive. If. But Roshan had never heard Andruil getting bored of a hunt.

She entered yet another corridor, when she saw something dark near the other end. Roshan stilled, gathering her magic. The shadow moved again, and she heard a quiet whisper distorted by Unfallen mask.  
“Lavellan. Follow me. She is prowling in the eastern part of the maze and getting closer.”  
Her heart leaped, but sank in next moment. Had Andruil gotten bored with cat and mouse, and turned towards more cruel games instead?  
“Tell me the code.”, she hissed back, gripping her Void-forged blade so hard that her knuckles turned white.  
“Seventeen-five-nine-eleven.”, the voice whispered, and Roshan swallowed a sob. Oh, thank you gods, stars, the Great Mother dragons worshipped, whomever there was. It was Vunora.

Vunora kept watch while Roshan stripped Senris' spare armour off her. She had no idea how Vunora had dragged a spare set of the Unfallen battle armour up the mountain, but closing herself inside the black metal gave her a false sense of security. Falon'Din's insistence of regulating Unfallen height and weight by magic during the growing years made them all easy to provision and hard to tell apart.  
“We don't have much time.”, Vunora whispered. “I brought you proper weapons and armour because you did the right thing for Natha. If you choose, I can give you easier death than you would get from Andruil.”  
“It is not why you came all way here. I doubt our--”, Roshan almost slipped into her old pattern before noticing it “Falon'Din ordered you to come.”  
“He does not know. This is my own decision. I stole a weapon which can kill Andruil. I will help you in one condition. You will turn me into a dragon. Just like what happened to you. And then you will leave and tell nobody how you killed Andruil. And you will tell nobody what I am. I will tell our lord myself.”  
Roshan's eyes widened.  
“Vunora. He hates dragons! Why would you-- Falon'Din will kill you when he finds out!”  
“He would not.”, Vunora said firmly.  
“He would! You didn't see what he did to dragon he kept imprisoned under the Nameless Lands! He was planning to carve her heart out for lyrium.”  
“There is no time to argue about this, Lavellan!”, Vunora snapped. “Take it or leave it! It is a weapon designed to kill a dragon, and you can't wield it. You will either agree and let me do it, or you will die.”  
“Why?”, Roshan whispered. “Why you want this?”  
“Because I love him!”, Vunora hissed. “Do you think you are the only one who has looked above herself, and found something worth of respect? Who has ever loved someone without hope? I'm faithful to my lord. I would never leave him. But I can't go on watching him destroy himself because of lyrium. I can't. I would sooner kill myself.”  
Roshan's face fell.  
“I'm so sorry.”, she said quietly, reaching to grasp Vunora's hand.  
“Don't be sorry. Do something about it! You found freedom for yourself. Can't you allow me freedom to choose my own fate? I know you, Lavellan. I raised you for six years after you were brought to Falon'Din's temple. I told you that Unfallen do not have children born from them, but you would have a family, and it would be enough. You were always loyal to your own. Are we no longer yours? Whether or not you have our lord's markings on your skin, you are still one of _us. I did not forsake you, and you can't forsake me now._ ”  
“It might kill you.”, Roshan said, trying to come up with one last reason.  
“Andruil will kill you, if you don't take my offer.”, Vunora replied.  
“So she will. The transformation will take time. Months, maybe a year. If you feel tingling between your shoulder blades, run and hide. Don't let them see you take the form of the divine.”, Roshan spoke fast. She could not risk slashing open another wound on her hand and making her grip slippery, and her mouth already tasted like blood. Biting the wound deeper, she kissed Vunora on the lips, and felt a rush of cold as Vunora's magic began to pull blood forwards.

Her knees were getting weak, and the room seemed to move, when Vunora finally pulled away, staggering.  
She bent from waist, and held hands on her mouth, trying not to retch. Roshan leaned against the wall, and breathed deep, until the dizziness settled.  
“It burns horribly.”, Vunora said weakly as she straightened her posture. “Remind me not to kiss you again.”  
“My husband says it's acquired taste.”  
“Your lord husband is a liar.”, Vunora huffed. She took her mask and settled it back on the place. Then she took a small glass vial of black liquid from a compartment in her armour. The black substance inside the vial was moving. It looked like black slithering tendrils of tar, trying to claw their way out.  
“That is it?”, Roshan asked quietly. There was something very unsettling in the tiny vial. It felt like she should know what exactly was wrong with it, but she was too exhausted to remember what it was.  
“Don't let the looks fool you. It was manufactured in Ghilan'nain's laboratory and tested on over two dozen dragonlings we found from the nest. It killed them like they were rats. She calls it 'the Blight'.”, Vunora said as she carefully slipped the vial inside the hollow arrowhead. The design was clever; there were several little spikes inside the hollow blade. Any jolt, preferably the impact on hitting the intended target, would spring the bows holding back the spikes. The glass vial would break, and release the poison, all at once. One did not want to wave a weapon dripping of deadly liquid, and pray she wouldn't get a single drop on herself.  
They both felt the tiny push against the alarm wards Vunora had set.  
“It's time.”, Roshan said, putting on the Unfallen mask. She could have done without, but she wanted to take all available options to shield herself from the poison.  
Vunora nodded, and moved her fingers in Unfallen sign language. _Falon'Din's blessings on you.  
_ Roshan turned towards the passage leading outside and left to meet her fate.

 

The world outside mountain had changed again while she hid inside the mine. Roshan wondered why the Dreamer magic seemed to have much harder time changing the stone. The mountain was intact, but the frozen lake and snowy banks had changed into a clearing in a forest. In the middle of the clearing stood a single tree.  
The reassurance she had gotten from Vunora's presence had given her enough for few precious drops of lyrium, and she did not want to ruin the surprise by showing her new armour. It was hard to crawl out from the mine entrance as a dragon, but finding her enemy wasn't nearly as difficult. Andruil sat on a high branch, and the light of the stars coloured her hair golden.  
“It was a good trick, as long as it lasted.”, Andruil said. “You led me a merry chase. Sad it wasn't enough.”  
“I'm not dead yet.”, Roshan replied through dragon's sharp teeth and took wing, throwing last of her strength into attack against Andruil.

\--

The place was swarming with disfigured monsters. So far, they had encountered a herd of killer rabbits, several burning horses and a sea filled with tentacle monsters. Amorous tentacle monsters. In any other circumstances, Dirthamen would have gladly left Senris behind instead of counter-spelling Andruil's dreaming, but the upper mountain was crawling with demons, and Falon'Din still wasn't here. Dirthamen didn't know what was keeping him. So he had to save Senris for practical reasons. It smarted him to admit, but it was somewhat unlikely he would have gotten this far on his own without using up a significant portion of his mana.  
Dirthamen kicked a manifested Terror off his bladed staff, and whirled to block another's claws, but Senris was faster and Dirthamen saw a blade sticking from spirit's belly before it crumbled and the essence flowed back to deep Beyond.  
“I could have handled it myself.”, he said angrily to Senris.  
“I already had it.”, the man replied in that insufferably bland tone. “My lord will not find a fault in me assisting you up to mountain, but he has not given me orders to interfere with the duel. You should save your strength to assist your lady wife.”  
Without interrupting his speech, Senris pulled a dagger out of nowhere and threw it over Dirthamen's shoulder. He turned to see a Fear demon falling on the ground. Senris had threw the dagger straight into it's eye. In the eye of _a spider demon_. For fuck's sake. Didn't the man have any modesty? Or was he showing off for Dirthamen on purpose? Somehow, Dirthamen was inclined to believe the latter option.  
He glared at Senris, who was perfectly neutral as always, and started to climb up the mountain. Faster this was done with, faster he could get rid of the man.

As they got closer, Dirthamen felt a surcharge of Dreamer magic unleashed, and heard a dragon screaming in pain. Fuck. He picked up speed, starting to run, and Senris followed. He didn't even mind when the bastard pulled out a bow from nowhere and started shooting demons _while they ran_. Definitely showing off. Fucker.  
“What is your professional opinion of Roshan's chances?”, he asked, panting.  
Senris looked at him.  
“If she is still alive, I'm very proud of her.”, he said solemnly. “Run faster.”  
“ _Running_ is for peasants.”, Dirthamen announced and shifted his shape, taking a form of divine. A grey dragon rose to sky, and flew towards the mountaintop, where golden dragon fought against the red one.  
Senris looked after him, and sniffed.  
“It didn't occur to you earlier that you could have flown up all the way there?”, he asked from nobody in particular, and then continued to run.

  
\--

Andruil's teeth bit deep, tearing the soft flesh of her belly, and she screamed. She clawed at Andruil's snout with her back leg, and barrelled in the air, trying to give Vunora a good shot. What was keeping her? The teeth dug between her stomach scales again, and she screamed in red-hot pain until her voice was hoarse. She was bleeding all over, and she could feel the dragon form slipping from her. The Void, which normally whispered in the edge of her mind, was getting further, too. It made a horrifying kind of sense. If Andruil won, she would become the heir, and she would kill Mother and Sister and all the hatchlings as soon as she marched into the Void. She could not let it happen.  
She whirled, and sank her teeth into leather of Andruil's wing, ripping ferociously. Not Mother. Not Sister. Not Anaris and their little hatchlings. If she died, she would make sure Andruil would not fly anywhere today.  
Andruil was screaming and cursing for pain, but suddenly she !!br0ken!!  
so hard that the golden dragon lost her hold. Andruil's tail struck her, and she flew against the mountainside with a dull thump. She didn't remember falling on the ground, but when she opened her eyes next moment, she was in elven form again, laying on the ground like ruined doll.

Vunora had not missed her shot.

Andruil screamed and convulsed on the ground in front of her, and she no longer looked like glorious red dragon. The Blight had turned her into a monster. Before Roshan's terrified eyes, Andruil's gleaming scales turned into dull, hard spikes. They looked like splintered bones, and her tail was far more like a spiked mace than any beast's tail Roshan had ever seen. Spidery tendrils of black rot spread over the red, turning the scales dull and dry. But the worst of all was the Song. It had turned utterly silent.

Roshan stared at Andruil, and her heart froze with fear. This was the most frightening thing she had ever seen. They should not have done this, she thought, and the fear spread from her heart to rest of her body, paralysing her with fear. With terrible certainty, Roshan understood that they had unleashed something very, very wrong.  
“Aaargh! You slave bastard! You cursed slut!”, the dragon screamed with hoarse voice. “It burns! It burns in my veins! What did you do? Stop it! I command you!”  
The dragon clawed it's own scales until it bled, but the blood flowing from her wounds was not red. It was black, and it smelled foul.  
“You will die for this.”, Andruil hissed, and lunged forwards.  
Roshan closed her eyes, and bit her teeth together, bracing herself for pain. Through her closed eyelids, she saw a shadow falling over her, and then a blinding light.  
“Keep your twisted claws off my wife.”, Dirthamen's furious voice shouted, and Roshan opened her eyes just in time to see the attacking monster being thrown backwards by a spell.

He stood between her and Andruil, holding a bladed staff in his hands.  
<Don't touch her! Poison, fatal to dragons.>, she tried to reach through the bond. She could not muster the energy to speak. Everything hurt, and she thought she was going to pass out again if she tried.  
Dirthamen turned to look over his shoulder, and flashed her a smile.  
<I will keep that in mind. I have this well under control, vhenan. Enjoy the show.>  
Then he started to cast.

Roshan had never seen him fight. Dirthamen was not like Senris, or the Unfallen. Or Falon'Din. Instead of charging the enemy, he stood there, and forced his will to change the world around them. It was devastating to watch.  
The forest floor started to shake, and sharp, pointed stalagmites rushed up from the ground. The sky above Andruil vanished, turning into a wall of ice. Andruil got trapped between the two, and Dirthamen swung his staff forwards, dropping the ceiling of sharp icicles down on Andruil. The crushing sound and Andruil's inhuman scream echoed in Roshan's ears, and she thought she was going to be sick. But he had not finished. A glow of fire began to melt the prison of ice from inside, but Dirthamen had expected that. He drew a wide circle in the air, and the ice was suddenly covered by black, powdery substance. He raised up a barrier to shield her and Roshan, and his expression was calmly interested as he watched Andruil's flames starting lick the ice. When the ice melted, the black powder exploded with a bang which made Roshan's ears ring despite the barrier. It was likely a good thing, because the ringing kept her from hearing Andruil's scream. Andruil's wings were in tatters, and there were patches of burnt flesh showing from the spots where her scales had been ripped out.  
“I can keep this up for next thousand years, if you want, or you can admit your defeat.”, Dirthamen said, and the broken remains of Andruil's forest started to arrange themselves into familiar shape. Varterrals.  
“There-is-no-defeat!”, Andruil spoke, and her mouth dripped blood.  
“You lost. Admit it. You can either fly back home and nurse your wounds and your injured pride, or you can try to fight me and die. I will say you attacked me, and I had to defend myself. Ghilan'nain might mourn you, but they can't bring you back once you are dead.”  
“The duel was between me and the slave.”, the monstrous creature hissed.  
“I've had enough of your slurs. You are speaking about my lady wife. Be polite.”, Dirthamen instructed, and a stalagmite broke through Andruil's barriers, impaling her tail.  
“The duel for the position of Heir is between the dragons, that is true. But according to the law of dragons, I was her protector before I ever became her husband according to ours. It is my job to fight you, and I will do it gladly. This is your last change to run off. I will count to three.”  
Roshan saw something sparkling and bright starting to form between Dirthamen's cupped hands.  
“One.”, he said in friendly voice.  
Andruil glared at the sparkling ball, which was barely larger than a millstone.  
“Two.”, Dirthamen said, and the ball continued growing. Roshan could see it over his shoulder, now. The glow made her eyes water.  
“Three.”, Dirthamen finished, and sent the ball flying up in the sky. The whole world seemed to shake, and from the corner of her eye, Roshan saw Andruil taking wing. The glow on the sky exploded as Andruil vanished behind the trees, and Roshan hid her head with her arms.  
Then she heard Dirthamen laughing. Carefully, she raised her head, and saw sparkles colouring the sky.  
“Fireworks?”, she asked incredulously. “You drove Andruil off by threatening her with _fireworks_?”  
“And how well it worked, gaidhalas.”, Dirthamen said, looking at her, and grinned like a boy.


	25. The People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen visits the Void. Roshan takes up gardening, much to Elgar'nan's displeasure.

They left the mountain, and went home.

“What if we fail, and there will be no peace?”, Roshan asked one night when they were cuddling in a garden chair outside the cabin, watching stars. It was summer, and the night was warm.  
Dirthamen considered her question.  
“I think there is a good chance we could die. The world might end. I don't think all this could stand the full-scale war between Evanuris and Nameless Ones.”, he finally said.  
“When I die, you should burn me. I don't want to become a creepy lyrium vein.”, Roshan decided.  
“Why you would die first?”, Dirthamen frowned with displeasure. “I don't want to be a widower.”  
“Vhenan, you would be a dashing widower. All the ladies of Elvhenan would be waiting at your doorstep, writing poems and whispering about your tragic fate. They would dream of comforting you, and you wouldn't have a moment's peace.”, Roshan said, sounding pleased.  
“I don't like your suggestion. It's appalling.”  
“Then one day, you would fall in love again, and marry, and you would have babies which would look just like you. You would be happy, and very much loved by your wife and children. The world would be at peace, and there would be no slaves. You could think about me once a while, and it would hurt less every time. Then one day you wouldn't miss me any more, and move on. You would be truly happy again.”  
“That's the most sickening thing I've ever heard.”, Dirthamen huffed. “Only thing missing from it is a heroic statue of you in a village market square, and random children playing around it.”  
Roshan chuckled.  
“Excellent addition, vhenan.”  
Dirthamen sighed.  
“Why you are on such a morbid mood today?”  
“Geldauran is not well. You know she says every year that this is her last, but this might be it, for real. I don't think I'm ready.”, Roshan said, playing with the buttons of his shirt.  
“How bad is it?”  
“She can't walk or stand up on her own. She just lays in bed, sleeping most of the time. I've never seen anyone to look so old. Her skin is like wrinkled parchment and the flesh on her cheeks has sunk in.”  
“It's not going to be long, then.”, Dirthamen adjusted his arm around Roshan, pulling her closer.  
“I will miss her.”, she said sadly.  
“I know, gaidhalas.”, he said, stroking her back. “It is strange to think anyone dying like that. The whole thought is just so morbid. You are starting to sound like Falon'Din.”  
“What? I'm not!”, Roshan exclaimed.  
“You do.”, her husband informed, pulling her upwards for a kiss. “Death, death, death. I would much prefer to discuss happier topics. Life, for example. Creating it.”

 

When Roshan woke up in Dirthamen's palace, she felt different. The room was still same, and the wind fluttering the thin curtains brought no warning of hostile attackers to come. She could feel the quiet hum of magic wards etched in the orange walls. They seemed to be in order, too.  
Dirthamen still slept on his stomach, with arm thrown over her chest. His breathing was calm and even, and the bond told Roshan that everything was fine. Except it wasn't.  
The song had changed.

She curled closer against Dirthamen, pushing herself in the circle of his arms.  
“Vhenan.”, she called quietly. “Wake up.”  
He stirred slowly, and she could tell he was still halfway in the Fade when he opened his eyes.  
“What is it, Roshan?”, he asked, his voice still low and heavy with sleep.  
She swallowed, trying to keep hold on emotions threatening to overcome her. She was happy, and grateful because Falon'Din had been wrong. Her body was not too damaged for this. But fear and worry were stronger. She didn't know how to do this and not to fail again. She couldn't bear to fail.  
“I woke up, and the song had changed. It was… happy.”  
Dirthamen's unguarded, sleepy expression changed. His hand slid carefully down her back, brushing over her hips, and then settling on her stomach which was still flat. Roshan felt a soft spark of magic from his fingers, and Dirthamen looked at her.  
“It will be all right.”, Dirthamen promised. He kissed her forehead, and held her tightly. Even though Roshan knew that one man, no matter how clever and powerful he was, could not hold every danger at bay, the tight ball of fear inside her uncoiled just a bit. He wouldn't leave her. He had followed her to Void. She breathed deep, hiding herself with the covers and his larger body, and listened the song of new life.

\--

Dirthamen pulled the collar of his bear-skin cloak up, shivering as he waded through the snow. The snowdrifts reached his knees, and the chilling wind bit the tips of his ears despite the hood. The place had always been bleak, but the Void seemed even less welcoming than Dirthamen remembered.  
He saw a faint light coming from the north, and picked up pace, not wanting to be here any longer than necessary. Even though Dirthamen knew everything was fine, and Roshan was perfectly safe in his palace, he did not feel comfortable being apart from her now. Or coming here to see Geldauran.

There were three young drakes, likely hatched from Anaris' beloved eggs, guarding the cave mouth. Dirthamen pulled down his hood as he approached, grimacing at the cold biting his skin, so they could see the scar. Roshan had insisted on it. The largest one, a black drake, made hissing noises, but they let him pass.  
It was marginally warmer inside the cave, barely. The passages were like he remembered, and he could hear the singing noises from Anaris' part of the cave. Ignoring them, Dirthamen turned to right, taking the route towards Geldauran's bedchamber. He passed several dragonlings on a way, and then stopped. There was a splash of colour visible behind the corner. Curious. The Void was not a place of colours, or beauty.

On the wall next to Geldauran's bedchamber door, there was fresco, painted in southern style which Mythal favoured. A large, regal red dragon filled almost the whole wall. Geldauran, Dirthamen nodded. She was easy to recognize. Apparently the rulers of Nameless were not immune to flattering presentations.  
Studying the fresco carefully, he noticed something. The red dragon's left wing was in odd position. He brushed his fingers against the surface, following the outline of wing, and found uneven scratch, shaped like a veilfire rune. Dirthamen's mouth curved in a smile, and he cast a spark of magic, igniting the rune.  
In the eerie green light of veilfire, a small golden dragon appeared on the stone wall. It curled under red dragon's wing, all cozy and warm, and wore the familiar expression of pure smugness. The artist had captured the spirit of his wife the dragon perfectly with few lines. A low, amused chuckle escaped from Dirthamen.  
“You like my portrait?”, a thin voice of an old woman requested from the next room. “Come in and stop skulking in my hall, boy.”  
The door opened, and Dirthamen looked at the one more time at the fresco, mentally filing the idea of finding the artist and commissioning him to make a statue of his wife the dragon. It would irritate Roshan to no end, and prove much amusement when the dragon saw it. He would put it to garden right where his study window was, because dragon loved to break the glass by sticking it's head through to interrupt him when he worked.

Dirthamen had not been prepared to be shocked when he entered Geldauran's bedroom. It had been some time since he last saw his mother-in-law, especially not in her dragon form. Thinking back, Dirthamen thought that he had spied an attractive, curvy woman once or twice when Geldauran had bedded Solas, but this was not like that at all. The body laying under furs was thin, almost skeletal frame of very old woman. Her flesh was sunken against her bones, and her skin was a crossed with more lines than Dirthamen had ever seen on any species. Also, there was something wrong with her ears.  
“I hope you came here to deliver my broth instead of staring rudely at an old woman.”, Geldauran said, and the familiar sharpness of her tone was what convinced Dirthamen of her identity.  
Oh yes, the broth. Roshan had said something about caring for Geldauran because she was unwell. 'Unwell' was an understatement. The woman was dying. Dirthamen took out a flat flask from the inside pocket of his cloak and looked around, finding a small bowl and spoon placed on a chair next to Geldauran's bed.  
“I meant no offence.”, he said smoothly, opening the flask and pouring the steaming broth on the bowl. “I was merely surprised not to see a dragon. My wife sends her regards, and the broth. She was taking over the kitchen as I left, making the staff upset.”  
Geldauran let out a dry, barking laugh as she pulled herself in sitting position with great difficulty.  
“Are you able to eat, or do you need help?”, Dirthamen asked.  
“It depends on whether you are going to feed me or stick a spoon in my eye.”, Geldauran said.  
“As things are, it is in my best interest that you live for some time yet.”, Dirthamen said pleasantly, and took the spoon in his hand. Offering the first spoonful to his old enemy, he continued: “My wife is carrying a child. It is early days, yet, and she is understandably nervous and afraid of miscarriage. We agreed that entering the Void should be avoided, along with destructive magic and fighting.”  
Geldauran swallowed, and Dirthamen offered another spoonful before she could answer:  
“Like I said, right now I have every reason to keep you alive and well. Roshan's ascension to your throne – if you have one – should wait until the child is born and preferably grown up a bit. Fights to death are not advisable in her condition. But if you even consider eating my child again, I will kill you with this spoon, and tell Roshan you have died in your sleep. She loves you. I do not.”  
Dirthamen's hand holding the spoon dropped it on Geldauran's furs, and he grabbed her jaw, delving in.  
_A golden city in the clouds. A weeping girl, her hands tied to a stake, watching as a black dragon descended. Dead children. Eggs. Blood. A pool of emerald water, and the faint reflections on the surface. It seemed curious, and Dirthamen looked deeper in the memory of reflection. He saw his own face, twisted in pain, and a hilt of a sword sticking from his_ _stomach_ _. The hand gripping the hilt was somehow wrong. The fingers were long, with elven bones, but the skin was dark and sickly._  
“Tsk.”, Geldauran said as Dirthamen pulled back, feeling nauseous. “Now you got my spoon covered in hairs. Clean it up, and be quick about it. All warm things cool here, fast, and I want to eat while it's still warm.”  
Dirthamen picked up the spoon, and his hand shook.  
“The pool. What is it?”, he asked, keeping his voice steady.  
“You saw your death, then?”, Geldauran arched her browns, swallowing another spoonful. “Not my doing, and not my wish, either. Just one of the ways future might take, if you are not careful. In the future, I would advise you against sneaking into my head. You won't find anything nice from there.”  
“I'm not surprised.”, Dirthamen replied dryly, and continued feeding her.  
“Send my daughter congratulations.”, Geldauran said when she finished her meal. “Is she pleased?”  
“Yes. We are happy.”, Dirthamen said.  
“Good. Very good. Don't let her come here. The lack of magic in here is not good for elvhen babies. Laying eggs is easier for safety reasons, but the sensation is just disturbing. I ran around my cave and screamed, first time I did it.”, Geldauran muttered, closing her eyes. “And Dirthamen?”  
“Yes?”  
“Something is very wrong in Elvhenan. Those Who Sleep say that there are areas where the Song sounds wrong, and the corruption spreading. Look into it, for me, and I will give a boon in exchange. Keep my daughter away from it.”  
“Any ideas where to start?”, Dirthamen asked thoughtfully.  
“Hunterhorn mountains. Andruil's realm.”, Geldauran said, and her breathing slowed down as she fell asleep.  
Dirthamen sat on the chair, empty bowl in his hand, and wondered what would the Evanuris do if they knew how easily they could win the war right now. Making up his mind, he summoned Fear. It took few moments, but the demon raved pierced through the veil easily, appearing in the Void perching on Geldauran's bed headboard.  
“The gossips are already whispering. Assassins are being sent for your love.”, Fear croaked.  
“You just keep trying, don't you? Shut up and listen.”, Dirthamen ordered. “You are to stay here, and watch over Geldauran. If she needs anything, or if her life is in danger, you must inform me at once.”  
“I'm an essence of horror.”, the creature protested.  
“You can try that while you babysit my mother-in-law, but I doubt she has any more patience for your malevolent driveling than I do. Care for her, and keep her alive.”

Well pleased, Dirthamen left Gelduran's bedroom. He was short of one demonic pet, which was a good thing. Even though Fear and Deceit were generally very useful creatures, their social skills left much room for improvement. It was obvious when Dirthamen summoned Deceit to inform Roshan to open a portal for him.  
The bird appeared in thin air, looking even more malevolently happy than usually. There was evil glimmer in the black eye.  
“Senris is having a secret meeting in the garden with your wife. His willy is bigger than yours.”, Deceit began.  
“Oh, for fuck's sake.”, Dirthamen snapped. “That's just ridiculous, even for you.”  
He pinched the raven's beak shut with his fingers, and gave it an electric shock. This time, it's lies had gone too far.  
“Go tell my wife that I request a portal.”, he ordered, and sent the offending creature on it's way.

–

“My lady, there is a visitor to see you.”, one of the palace servants interrupted Roshan while she was kneeling on the dirt and planting seeds. This morning she had decided they needed a private kitchen garden for… well, for sentimental reasons. With the baby, her body's lyrium production had gone into overdrive, and apparently her sexual appetite was following. Since she did not think Dirthamen's kitchen staff would appreciate them rolling over the backyard, she had decided to make her own. Maybe they should have a private kitchen, too? Dirthamen was rather fond of her cooking, and it would be easier to control the risk of poisoning. She would ask for a kitchen when he returned from the Void.  
“I'm in middle of something here.”, she said, smoothing the dirt even with her hands. The blue glow sank in the ground, and a seedling tomato plant broke through the dirt, already carrying fruit.  
“Since when tomatoes outrank welcoming your lord's father?”, Elgar'nan's voice inquired behind her.  
Well, this was awkward. Getting up, Roshan wiped the dirt off from the front of her yellow dress, and then put her hands behind her back, trying to look like she had not spent last three hours digging in a garden.

Indeed, Elgar'nan was standing behind her, with Senris. Oh, fenedhis lasa. Roshan could feel the blood rushing on her face. This was horrible. She had bitten Senris on the hipbone. She wanted to sink under the ground and turn into lyrium vein for sheer shame of it. Luckily, Elgar'nan decided her visible embarrassment was caused by his arrival, not Senris.  
“I did not know you had interest in agriculture.”, Elgar'nan noted, watching the rows of vegetables.  
“It's just something I took up to fill my spare time, my lord.”, she said, feeling mortified.  
“I would have thought your talents would have been better used elsewhere. Like training my son's armed forces.”, Elgar'nan said with disapproval. “They are too focused on soft things. Subterfuge. Spying.”  
“I fear it would not be received well by Dirthamen's people, my lord. Many of them have hard time learning to embrace the peace treaty between us.”, Roshan replied carefully.  
“As the leader of Elvhenan, I can't agree with wasting your talent on menial tasks. I will speak with my son about this.”, Elgar'nan said high-handedly.  
“You are in liberty to do so, my lord, but I'm not his subject. Or yours.”, Roshan said, a spark of defiance causing her tongue to slip. She had no intention to returning to her former profession. She would keep her baby _safe_.  
“Truly?”, Elgar'nan's voice softened dangerously, and Senris flinched, taking a step forwards, and then back.  
“Yes.”, Roshan said, straightening her posture and crossing her arms over her chest. “If I wish to spend my day gardening, I may spend my day gardening. I'm not a slave, or indentured servant. I'm the Heir of the Void, and the only person with authority to command my time is my Mother.”  
“You are in Elvhenan, now, and the Empire is mine to command. I could make you change your mind.”, Elgar'nan leaned forwards, towering over her.  
“Oh, you could try.”, Roshan breathed, rising on her toes.  
“Father!”, Dirthamen's hurried steps approached from other end of the garden. His voice rang loud and clear, breaking the tense mood. Elgar'nan turned to greet him, and Roshan let herself fall back. She felt suddenly nauseous. Gods. What she had just _done?_ Tried to pick up a fight with _Elgar'nan_?  
“Vhenan.”, she said, brushing her hand over Dirthamen's arm. “I need to rest. I'll be in my rooms if you need me.”  
Her husband nodded, and turned back to his father, who was explaining something about odd discovery. Roshan didn't stay to listen. She fled along the gravel path, fighting the urge to run. Her heart was beating fast, and she was upset. The fear of what could have happened was making her panic.  
Senris' dark eyes followed her the whole way.

 

She woke up some hours later, when it was already dark. Her heart was sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her with amusement.  
“Gaidhalas?”, Dirthamen asked, trying not to laugh. “What is this? You built a nest? From pillows?”  
“It felt safe. I couldn't sleep because the room was too open.”, Roshan admitted grumpily as she pulled herself out from a mountain of pillows and velvet covers. “I fear the stupid dragon is leaking.”  
His eyes softened, and his expression grew serious.  
“You are afraid, again.”, Dirthamen noted.  
She nodded, unable to say anything because there was lump in her throat. It was no use to lie; he could feel her panic.  
“I got in argument with your father.”, Roshan said, sneaking her way into his arms. Settling against him always seemed to help. It was good place to hide, her stupid brain claimed. It was not, and she knew it, but… It was Dirthamen or the pillow fort, and building nest from pillows was not efficient security measure.  
“I saw.”, Dirthamen replied, combing her hair with his fingers. “What was it about?”  
“He criticized my gardening.”, Roshan replied. “Claiming it was a waste of my time.”  
“I disagree.”, Dirthamen said, lifting his leg over hers, and pulling her closer. “It's perfect.”  
“I thought so, too.”, she said, feeling the soft, dreamy lassitude returning to her limbs as her body relaxed. “I would like to have a kitchen. Take up my old interests.”  
“Just decide where you want it, and I will have my people to build it.”, Dirthamen promised, kissing her forehead. Her eyes were only partially open, but Roshan saw the blue glow of lyrium softly shining as the magic sank into Dirthamen.  
“You are turning into a cuddler, gaidhalas.”, he informed.  
“I'm not.”, Roshan denied. She felt so soft. Like she could fall asleep any moment now.  
“You are.”, Dirthamen said, humming under his breath as he kissed the lyrium off her skin. “Geldauran sent her regards. She was pleased for you. I left Fear there to care for her, and inform us if something happens.”  
“She was not upset because I didn't come?”, she asked.  
“No. She agreed that you should stay away from the Void.”, Dirthamen replied. His mouth descended lower, and Roshan's breath caught when she felt a hot flash of his tongue on her breast.  
“My father is staying. He wants you to attend a dinner.”, he whispered against her skin.  
“I would rather not. It would be uncomfortable situation. Meeting Senris.”, she admitted.  
“Why?”, Dirthamen requested smoothly, and distracted her with another lick, a slower one.  
“Because the stupid dragon bit him during the rampage, and I'm embarrassed to death about it.”, Roshan confessed.  
She felt a sudden, burning flash of jealousy through their bond.  
“Why?”, Dirthamen asked, returning to kiss the corner of her mouth. There was something odd with the kiss. She could tell. A tingle of magic on her skin, not lyrium. Suddenly she wanted very much to answer him truthfully.  
“Senris keeps spare armour in his pocket. Those retractable cubes. He said that I can have it, and his spare dagger, if I take them.”, Roshan told him. “The dragon's magic made him drunk, I think, and I needed his items to fight Andruil. He kissed me, and let me steal his weapons. The dragon liked him, very much, and bit him. On his hip.”  
“And you?”, Dirthamen's voice was velvety soft, and she found it hard to look away from the purple of his eyes. So she did not. “Do you like him?”  
“I do. Marking him as mine would not have worked otherwise.”, she admitted, feeling terrible when a genuine hurt radiated through their bond. It reached her even through the fog filling her mind.  
“Do you like him better than me? Do you love him?”  
“I love you. It hurt too much after the baby died, and I lost you, too.”, her mouth formed the words she had never thought to admit. “I thought you didn't love me. I tried to forget you. But I couldn't. I still loved you. Only you.”  
His expression looked ashamed, and a bit apologetic, when he kissed her brow. The touch tingled oddly on her temple.  
“Sleep, vhenan. I think you might have a headache.”, was the last thing she remembered before falling asleep.

 

She woke up next morning to a familiar voice. Felassan kicked the door open, and stormed in carrying a tray.  
“Good morning, Lavellan. My lord the shithead just informed me that you need a _headache_ tonic.”  
“What?”, Roshan rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up properly. She was fairly certain she had misheard. Surely Felassan would not openly call Dirthamen with rude names.  
“Here, honey.”, Felassan said, thrusting her a silver cup with lavender liquid inside. “Drink it.”  
It smelled a bit odd, but the poison detection spell she cast came out clear. Felassan watched her impassively, and nodded when she finally began to drink.  
“If only you kept your guard up around everyone else, too.”, he huffed, sounding angry.  
“What do you mean?”, she blinked, not understanding what he meant.  
“Nothing. I'm just the faithful sworn servant, bound by oath of silence.”, Felassan replied through his grit teeth. “Well, how's your headache?”  
Roshan cleared her throat, trying to think back.  
“Fine, I think. Maybe I got a sunstroke when I was in the garden, planting seedlings. I should have worn a hat.”  
“Yeah. That garden. Do you remember Elgar'nan visiting you?”  
“Of course I do. He had Senris with him, and he didn't like me gardening.”, she tried to recall everything. “And then we had an argument, but Dirthamen came, and my head was hurting, so I came here to sleep.”  
“Wonderful.”, Felassan said, looking pissed up. “As your doctor, I would like to accompany you today. If there are any lingering effects from your headache.”  
“I don't think it's necessary.”, Roshan disagreed. “You are being ridiculous. I'm feeling fine.”  
“And I would very much like it staying that way, honey. Especially with your baby.”  
“He told you?”  
“Yes. My lord the shithead told me this morning. Not yesterday.”  
“I don't like you talking about him like that.”, Roshan said, giving Felassan a pointed look. “I love him.”  
“I know you do.”, Felassan sighed, and said no more about it.

She spent the morning working in her garden, until it was time for lunch. It was strange to be earthbound for so long. Roshan found herself missing the feeling of air beneath her wings, and wondering about Geldauran. It sat ill with her, knowing that Geldauran was feeling so weak and she could not go to her.  
But this was important, too. She was building a future for their people. Even to those who complained about their work.  
“Why do we need so many eggplants?”, Felassan asked unhappily as he dug another hole, moving to next empty spot on the row. “I don't even like their taste.”  
“I have to use up the magic somehow.”, Roshan said patiently. “And it's one of the ingredients for my hangover cure.”  
“You should make rounds around the fields, instead.”, Felassan suggested. “As a payback for everything you ate when you arrived home.”  
Roshan gave him a dirty look. Deceit, who was perching on a nearby tree , cawed. It sounded almost like a cackle.  
“Dragons reap. They don't sow.”, she said regally, ignoring her dirt-covered hands.  
“I remember the look on my lord's face when you threw a bloody alpaca on him.”, Felassan said cheerily. “It was a fine moment.”  
“What's your problem with him today?”, Roshan asked. “You've been on terrible mood whole morning.”  
Felassan did not answer. He looked over her shoulder instead, and noted:  
“Look. Senris is coming. I'll go and get more seeds for you.”  
The oculist stood up quite swiftly, and left the garden. Deceit stayed stuck on the branch, with no intention to leave.

There he was, standing on her vegetable patch.  
“Senris.”, she greeted, and smiled.  
He gave her a small nod.  
“I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable yesterday.”, he said after a short silence.  
Roshan frowned.  
“No, you did not.”, she said. “It was just Elgar'nan, and the army. I can't do what he wants, and I won't let him order me around.”  
She smiled apologetically, and brushed dirt off her skirt.  
“One day he will still be the leader of Evanuris, and I'll be the Queen of the Void. We will be equals. I must start like I plan to go on, for the sake of my people.”  
Senris nodded.  
“It is understandable.”, he finally said. “There is something I need to ask you, about dragons.”  
“Of course.”, Roshan said, putting down her shovel. “Ask away.”  
“My lord mentioned that dragons rampage to create offspring, and they make drakes compete for it. I've wondered what turns a drake into a drake?”, Senris asked.  
Roshan bit her lip, thinking.  
“Marking, I think..”, she said slowly. “It's a spell, consisting of two different actions. First part attunes the drake to lyrium, giving him resistance to dragon who marked him, and the second part gives him wings. 'Seals the deal', so to speak.”  
“And how would it work if the person was not Evanuris, and unable to take the form of divine?”, Senris asked, watching her with his dark eyes.  
“I don't know.”, Roshan admitted. “Dirthamen could already take the form of divine when I marked him. And the second drake I had, was born in that form.”  
“No others?”, he asked with neutral expression.  
“That is rather personal question.”, she said, smiling. “But no others.”  
“I see.”, Senris said gravelly. “My lord requested your presence. He is with lord Dirthamen, showing him the creature our soldiers found from the border zone. You should see it.”

 

There was a dead body laid on the table, and first thing Roshan noticed was the height. It was a giant compared to her, taller than Elgar'nan, even. Dirthamen was standing on the other side, with his father on the opposite.  
“What can you tell us about this creature?”, Elgar'nan asked Roshan.  
Dirthamen stepped aside to let her see.  
The dead woman had a bronze skin, and violet eyes. There were horns on her head, and-- Oh, stars. The Song was screaming the violation in her ears.  
“I'm sorry.”, Roshan said, retreating hastily. She put a hand on her mouth, trying desperately to swallow and Senris handed her a bucket just in time when she threw up. He held her hair back while she retched, and offered her a flask of water when her upset stomach finally calmed down.  
“Thank you.”, Roshan said weakly, and cast a cleaning spell before taking a sip of water.  
“I didn't take you that faint-hearted.”, Elgar'nan remarked acidly.  
“That creature is...”, she said, trying to fight the rising nausea, “… it used to be an elf. But the blood is not theirs. It's stolen from dragons.”  
The men looked at each other, and even Elgar'nan looked slightly unwell.  
“Manufactured?”, Dirthamen asked shrewdly.  
“Yes.”, Roshan nodded, feeling sick. “Elves, bred with dragons. Beasts.”  
She straightened her posture, and looked at Elgar'nan.  
“This is a violation of peace treaty.”, she said clearly, crossing her hands together. “The Nameless can not let this go unpunished. My mother might start a war for this.”  
Elgar'nan was quiet.  
“Just look at it.”, Roshan said sharply. “It's designed to be a soldier. Larger, and stronger. It could have a resistance of a dragon against different substances. And the magic is likely stronger, too. You know what can be done with dragon blood.”  
She shuddered, but touched the cold flesh of the creature. Her fingers, which could easily hold a bastard sword in her grip, couldn't even circle around the creature's biceps.  
“The person who created this, likely holds an army stronger than any other Evanuris. Are you truly willing to let it stand? I take it wasn't you, because you would not have brought this to us, then.”, Roshan demanded. Her nausea was giving way to rage. “If you do nothing, _we will_.”  
“Gaidhalas.”, Dirthamen warned, closing his fingers around her wrist.  
“No, vhenan. Your wife is not the one speaking now, but the Heir of the Nameless.”, Roshan replied, keeping her eyes on Elgar'nan.  
“Which border, Elgar'nan?”, she asked, not giving him a quarter.  
“Ghilan'nain's. The area which used to belong to Andruil.”, Elgar'nan finally admitted. “I will deal with this, but I require concrete proof. I can't accuse Ghilan'nain without clear evidence.”  
He looked at Senris, who stood by his side, and then back to Roshan.  
“I understand both you and Senris are well acquainted with slipping into places where you aren't supposed to be. The next century council of Evanuris is held in Andruil's land in three months. If you want justice for your people, I suggest you abandon your gardening, accompany my son to Andruil's lands, and run an operation with Senris. If you two find the evidence strong enough to prove Ghilan'nain took citizens of Elvhenan and interbred them with sacred animals, I'm prepared to dethrone her.”  
Roshan opened her mouth to agree, but then Dirthamen's grip on her wrist tightened enough to bruise.  
“She can't.”, Dirthamen interrupted hastily. “We are expecting a baby.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	26. Broken loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Senris makes a very bad decision.

The argument had gone on for hours. The dusk had fallen, but half-finished tray of fruit supplanting for a dinner was still on the table. Senris' stomach growled. The three elves sitting around a small table paid him no attention.  
“For the last time, father, my wife is not going to run any kind of operation for you.”, Dirthamen said.  
“You can't claim there is nobody in Nameless ranks who can do it, instead.”, Elgar'nan said, looking at Roshan.  
“It is not about our resources, but your demand.”, Roshan said. It was obvious that her patience was wearing thin. She looked tired, and a bit nauseous. She was likely feeling unwell, Senris thought. Nausea usually got worse if one had empty stomach. But it was not his place to point out the appalling lack of care her husband's people provided for Lavellan. Even if such thing would never have happened under _his_ watch.  
“It is perfectly reasonable.”, Elgar'nan looked down his nose at her.  
“It would be reasonable if we were your subjects.”, Roshan replied with sharpness. “Your people have wronged mine. As a solution, you propose that we gather all the evidence, so you can give us justice. But justice concerning my people isn't yours to give. We will not be judged by you.”  
Elgar'nan was not pleased.  
“You are obnoxious for someone who recently wore my son's markings.”, he noted.  
“If you think that referring to my past as slave will change my mind, you are sorely mistaken.”, Roshan replied coldly. “This is not an issue of my identity. This is an issue of insufficient leadership in your ranks. My mother was promised that whole Elvhenan will agree to peace treaty. So far, you son has stolen a dragon and with Ghilan'nain's help, made experiments on her. Then, you suddenly find a creature created with stolen blood. If you can't control your own people well enough to make them obey, what are we gaining from this?”  
“I though the answer was obvious.”, Elgar'nan said, nodding towards his son. “You got a warm bed, and comfortable life, provided by my son. And a father for your child.”  
Senris saw Dirthamen's eyes flash with sudden anger.  
“I will not tolerate slurs on my child, father.”, Dirthamen warned.  
“Everyone knows that you have not been in your right mind since you met the girl.”, Elgar'nan snapped. “Your mother and brother believe you were brainwashed.”  
Roshan stood up.  
“This discussion is going nowhere. The Nameless expect you to deal with Ghilan'nain's crime. It is your internal issue. If you prove unable or unwilling to do it before the meeting at Andruil's ends, we shall do it for you. But in the manner of our choosing.”, she said.  
“Is that a threat?”, Elgar'nan asked with dangerous edge in his voice.  
“It is a promise.”, Roshan replied. “I'm going to retire to my room. Good night.”  
She strode past Senris, opened the door, and left. Elgar'nan glanced at Senris before turning his attention to his angry son. Senris waited for half turn of an hourglass and then discreetly vanished from the doorway.

A sensible approach for a young heir who had met an unexpected political crisis was to seek advice from her mother. In Senris' opinion, Lavellan had always been a sensible person, if one did not count her suicidal tendency to speak her mind to various Evanuris.  
Also, the wards cast on her rooms in lord Dirthamen's palace were exemplary. Senris knew that the dragons used magical portals to enter the Void, and he suspected Lavellan would not attempt such a feat in a room where possibility of wards clashing with the spell was high. Pregnant women were considered vulnerable against conflicting magical energies.  
His expectations were not wrong. Senris had waited for ten minutes when he noticed a dark form slipping out from Lord Dirthamen's bedroom window and climbing the trellis up to the roof. Sheathing his weapons, Senris quickly followed.

The dark thing on Lavellan's shoulders, making her look like a shapeless lump, was a fur cloak which was too large for her. A curious thing to wear in a middle of summer, Senris thought, as he crept closer. The shadow vortex was already manifesting in front of Lavellan, slowly growing larger. She had not noticed him yet. Good.  
Crouching behind another gilded dome, Senris watched her open the portal. Lavellan pulled the fur cloak closer to her, lifting up the hood as she stepped through. An idea came to Senris; his lord would certainly be pleased to hear what the Nameless were planning. He had never seen the Void. Right here, within his reach, stood a unique chance to learn everything about his lord's enemy.  
There was no time to linger. Making his decision, Senris ran towards the portal and threw himself through it just before the way closed.

In hindsight, it was the worst decision in his life.

\--

Roshan turned around when the portal behind her trembled oddly before closing. Her eyes widened when she noticed Senris landing face first on the snow, and she cast a spell of paralysis on him, quickly shutting the portal before any others could follow.  
“Anaris!”, she yelled. “Intruder!!”  
“Senris, you idiot.”, Roshan wailed as she knelt to pull Senris up from the snow before he suffocated. “Why? You should not have followed me.”  
She heard an answering roar behind, and steeled herself. This might not go well. Not well _at all_. And why _now_? She could not afford to linger here!  
Anaris landed next to them in his dragon form, puffing snow high in the air.  
“A drake?”, he frowned. “You called me in haste because you brought your new drake here?”  
“He's not my drake.”, Roshan snapped. “I bit him, but it's not like that. He's Senris.”  
“Senris?”, Anaris repeated, and his tone changed.  
“Elgar'nan's Senris. He followed me here in secret. I came to speak with Mother about something very urgent.”, Roshan said, feeling miserable when Anaris' jaws opened in a mockery of a smile.  
“Oh, I remember him. He was the one causing us endless trouble during the war. I will gladly keep eye on Senris while you speak with Mother.”, Anaris said, shifting his form. He strode through snow, leaving a steaming footprints.  
“You take the head part, I'll take the legs.”, he offered, sounding all too happy.  
“You will not hurt him. Mother will decide what will be done to him.”, Roshan glared at Anaris as she braced her feet and gripped Senris' paralyzed arms, lifting up his upper body.  
“Of course not. He is your drake, isn't he?”, Anaris said. “Now, let's get going. I want to show him to my beloved. She will be so surprised; finally you have a drake who actually knows how to follow you through a portal!”  
Roshan gave him a dark look and began to wade through the snow towards the dim light of the Nameless cave.

Roshan was out of breath when they finally arrived to cave. Senris was not a light burden to carry, and even though her baby was still nothing but a small, barely visible curve on her lower stomach, she got tired very easily these days. Or maybe, the worried voice in her mind whispered, it was the effect of Void sapping her strength already. She needed to get out of here, before something bad happened to her baby. Their baby. Theirs.  
And Senris. Why he had to follow her here? Elgar'nan must have set him after her. And then, to overachieve his mission just the way he liked to do, Senris decided to take a look around in the Void.  
“You thought this would be a city, didn't you?”, Roshan asked bitterly from Senris as she pushed him to lean against the cave wall. He was as stiff as a plank. “Or a palace. Something familiar, where you could sneak around, and then just leave, bringing Elgar'nan the knowledge how to enter the Void.”  
Stopping for breath, she continued:  
“I don't know whether I'm more angry about you thinking I'd be careless enough not to notice extra person using my portal spell, or making me watch what Mother is going to do to you. I was fond of you. We were _friends_.  You bloody idiot!”  
Senris, of course, could not answer. He was still frozen by her spell.  
“Stop trying to break through the paralysis. I would save my strength if I were you. Ordinary magic does not work well in the Void, and I'm not as sloppy with my spells as you think I am.”, Roshan sniffed, feeling increasingly upset.  
“You shouldn't linger.”, Anaris pointed out, standing behind her. “For the hatchling's sake.”  
“It's a baby, not an egg.”, Roshan turned around, grateful for Anaris' interruption before she became upset enough to start crying.  
“How do you know?”, Anaris grinned. “Instead of giving birth like two-legged ones do, you might surprise yourself and lay an egg. Being a dragon, one never knows.”  
Roshan grimaced.  
“I think I feel sick.”, she informed Anaris. “I'm going to speak with Mother now. She needs to hear what has happened. Watch the prisoner.”

Her heart was heavy when she saw Geldauran's thin body laying under the covers. She looked worse than Roshan remembered. When she touched Geldauran's shoulder to shake her awake, she could feel the bones under the skin, and it made her feel cold. Seeing death come to someone like this was wrong, and frightening. One could die from wounds, or from an accident, but seeing Mother waste away like a candle burning down was unnatural.  
“Mother.”, Roshan bent down to kiss Geldauran's wrinkled cheek. “Mother, you need to wake up. I found out what happened to Sister's children stolen by Falon'Din and Ghilan'nain. The Evanuris made them into soldiers, part elves and part dragons. And there is a prisoner who tried to sneak in the Void.”  
Geldauran opened her eyes.  
“Tell me everything.”, she commanded.  
Feeling relieved, Roshan did as she was told, and began to describe the body Elgar'nan had brought to Dirthamen's palace. In the dark corner of Geldauran's bedroom, Fear spread his wings, and returned to his master.

When Roshan's explanation was finished, Geldauran sighed, leaning against her pillows.  
“You understand they are preparing for a war, don't you?”, she asked.  
“I know.”, Roshan admitted. “I fear I provoked Elgar'nan. But I can't let him use the peace treaty to bully us. We are not his subjects. He would push us into that, if he could.”  
“Mythal's boy mentioned you had taken up gardening.”, Geldauran remarked. “I want you to continue that, and expand your efforts. In your current state, everything you touch gets infected by lyrium. Plants. Their roots. The harvest. People eating it. It is nice, inconspicuous way to fortify your nest and the whole realm. Or lay out traps to repel invaders. Even wipe them out, if it comes to that. Lyrium can easily made to explode, and the particles tend to stick in soft tissue. They encapsulate.”  
Roshan swallowed.  
“With practice, you will be able to control even the smallest particles of lyrium.”, Geldauran continued calmly. “It requires fine control, but basic principles are no different than manipulating blood. With your previous experience, I believe you will pick the skill up rather quickly.”  
“You want me to poison everyone with lyrium? Dirthamen's people, too?”, Roshan cried out.  
Geldauran looked at her pale, anxious daughter and squeezed Roshan's hand.  
“It was a good dream while it lasted, child.”, she said gently. “But even if you love him, you will be a queen. Your first loyalty must be to your realm, and to your children. You will do this.”  
Geldauran's voice took a note which sang like lyrium. It sank inside Roshan's bones, giving her no quarter. It was the same song which had called her to come here first place, and first time since that when Geldauran had ordered her to act against her will. Geldauran saw the shock on her daughter's face before she hid her face in her hands. Her obvious hurt sat ill in Geldauran's heart, but she was a queen.  
“I won't order you to use the lyrium to destroy his people, or realm, but times are getting dangerous and you have to prepare. How else will you stop an army of those twisted children marching to slay you all?”, she asked, trying to soften the blow she had dealt. Roshan didn't answer.  
Geldauran saw a blue-tinted tear slowly falling between her daughter's fingers, and the mother in her wanted to apologize. She knew how precious her freedom was to her child, and she had not wanted to steal it from her, making her daughter a slave again. But queens were slaves to their people, too. And there was one order to give, still.  
“Work diligently, because if Elgar'nan does not destroy the army of stolen children, you will do it. They have a blood of a dragon, which means they have lyrium. You have to become skilled enough to destroy them all with just a thought.”  
Roshan nodded, and another tear fell between the hands hiding her face. It landed on Geldauran's furs.  
“You have until next summer to return to Void and prepare yourself to rule. Make most of that time, because when you return to us, it will be to slay me and become the queen. Without tributes, I won't live through a second winter.”, Geldauran told her.  
Her daughter burst into heartbreaking tears.

 

Roshan was still hiccuping when she returned to Senris and Anaris. Sister had joined them, too. The dragon was watching Senris with angry, hurt expression. Sister did not like elves, and she remembered Senris had left them to survive alone in Falon'Din's mine.  
“You are finished? What are Mother's orders?”, Anaris asked.  
“She-- I--”, she tried to answer, but she was too upset to make the words come out.  
“Don't cry, Little Sister.”, Sister said soothingly, and curled the end of her tail carefully around Roshan, letting her lean against the dragon's scales. “Some days are just hard.”  
“You should go to your Evanuris and rest. Let him fuss over you a bit. He is a fussy one, isn't he?”, Anaris said, reaching to rub her shoulders. “You know the type. Probably he's already hovering around his fancy palace like an angry seagull, and biting his manicured nails because you are missing.”  
Roshan wasn't sure if it was possible to laugh and cry at the same time, but the sound coming out from her mouth was a bit of both. Sister chuckled, and Anaris cackled at his own joke.  
“Yes.”, Sister said, looking pleased. “You should do that, and we will have much fun next time we see him running through the cave with a kettle of broth. He always tries to feed mother in five seconds so he can get back to you. It's ridiculous. Mother says her mouth would burn if she wasn't already a dragon.”  
Roshan sniffed, and wiped her eyes on Dirthamen's fur cloak she was wearing.  
“Mother said that Senris will remain here, because he is a drake now, and Anaris should show him the ropes.”  
Anaris glanced at Sister, and said smoothly:  
“All right. That's everything we need to know. But you should really get back. Being here is not good for your hatchling.”  
“It's a baby. Not an egg.”, Roshan tried to argue.  
“Go home or it will be an egg. Hush. Go away. ”, Sister pushed Roshan gently with her snout.  
“All right.”, she gave in. Looking at still paralysed Senris, she walked to him and ran her hand over his face.  
“The paralysing spell will be gone in few minutes. I'm sorry, Senris. But we can't let you go back to Elgar'nan.”  
She bit her lip, looking like she had something else to say, but deciding against it. Then Roshan simply nodded to Sister and Anaris, created a portal, and left the Void.

Anaris and Sister looked at each other.  
“She's gone?”, Anaris asked.  
“Yes.”, Sister confirmed. “No reason to make her more upset.”  
Anaris stepped aside, and Sister stomped in front of Senris.  
“You are one of us, now.”, she said. “Not that we wanted more of two-legged monsters here, but you obviously wanted the Little Sister. If you think you can run off as soon as the spell wears off, or hurt me or my drake or my hatchlings, you are wrong. I won't let any of you hurt any of us again.”  
Senris' mouth twitched very slightly, but he did not speak. Anaris was fairly sure the bugger was regaining the feeling on his face. Good.  
Sister opened her jaws, and smiled predatory smile.  
“We will teach you a better way. It starts with cleansing those nasty markings off your skin”, Sister said, and set Senris' face on fire with her breath.


	27. A man can't trust a dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elgar'nan searches for Senris, and finds something which ruins everything.

It was starting to look like Dirthamen's precious peace treaty was going to fail.

Elgar'nan understood failure, because he had failed too. He still could easily recall the burning in his throat when he had ran through the field, holding his father's axe in his hand and screaming Mythal's name. He remembered the glimpse in dragon's black eye, when it opened it's giant jaws and laughed at his wrath before stealing his heart away.  
They told him that nobody had ever found the dragons' lair. They told him that Mythal was dead, or worse. They told him to forget her. But a man could not forget his own heart. Elgar'nan knew he wouldn't, and in the end, he proved them all wrong. A man could achieve fearsome things if he gave his all to his goal.

But in his heart of hearts, Elgar'nan also knew that they had been right. Dragons changed people. After they escaped the Void and the dragons, Mythal was never the same girl he remembered. She was still beautiful, and intelligent, but her trials had hardened her. The dragons had changed her, polluted her with beast's blood, and made her think like one. He tried to understand. She had spent so long in imprisonment, and it was Elgar'nan's fault because finding her had taken too long.

But Mythal was his heart. He loved her despite her scars, and her scales, and believed that time and love would make them go away. She would heal, and his love would make her whole again, and they would be happy. Elgar'nan bonded with her, and brought her home, and when she told him that they were going to have a child, he wept. When their daughter was born and Elgar'nan first held her in his arms… For a moment, it had felt like it would happen.

He had been so wrong.

 

Shaking his head, Elga'rnan looked at the hourglass. It was getting late. He needed to check on Senris, and find out whether the man had anything interesting to tell about Lavellan's whereabouts tonight. Elgar'nan remembered reading Senris' reports from the years she had spent training with his forces. He highly doubted that Lavellan was feeling as poorly as she pretended. She was pregnant, not dying.  
“How far along is she?”, he asked from his son.  
“The child will be born in the spring.”, Dirthamen said, watching out from the window. His expression was uneasy.  
“Isn't that what you wanted?”, Elgar'nan asked.  
“It's… complicated.”, his son replied. “For both of us.”  
Elgar'nan sighed. Couldn't he, just once, see his children happy? The dragons had to always ruin it.  
“I don't think we will get any further today. Go to your wife. We can continue the discussion tomorrow.”, he said, and stood up, leaving his son standing by the window.  
Dirthamen nodded, lost in his thoughts.

 

_T_ _hey don’t talk about it. The subject is too raw for them both. But they have switched sides; Roshan sleeps between Dirthamen and the wall now, and she holds her hands on her stomach when she dreams. There was a dagger under the mattress, but when the days pass, it changes. One day, Dirthamen finds the dagger from a tray from the other side of the room. She had used it to peel apples, and then just forgotten.  
As if Unfallen ever forgot their weapons, he thinks, and watches his sleeping wife. There is serenity on her face, and she smiles often in her sleep. Her hands rest on curved line, now, and she is not afraid._

_He watches her walls crumble a bit each day, and wishes he could do the same. But it is hard for Dirthamen to watch a replay of a story he has seen over… How many times? Twenty? Forty? Too many to count, he decides when he lays in the dark, waiting for sleep. He has lived over four thousand years now, and done this once in every hundred years since he was fifteen._

_He remembers being upset about it, first. But the war was still going on, and things were bad, and despite his misgivings, one infant's life seemed acceptable trade for a power which could save hundreds. And Mother made it easy to them; she did not tell what happened to babies before one of the girls - Kella, her name was. Kella with bright smile and freckles, who worked in the requisitions - barged into twin’s tent, begging Dirthamen to help because Mythal had taken her baby. Their baby, Kella said. It had been the first time Dirthamen had found out he was a father._

_The memory still makes his mouth taste like ash. He had been young, and idealistic, and full of fire to do the right thing. Marry Kella, and take responsibility of his son, and become a man. It could be said, Dirthamen thinks ironically, that he did achieve the last of three goals when he found out that something as simple as ‘the right thing’ didn’t exist. He remembers standing on a carpet in Mythal’s tent, and staring at the circular pattern while mother speaks in calm voice and tells that his father was grievously injured during the charge against Tel’Sulvan fortress, and no ordinary magic would be enough to save him. He was so young then, but not too young to understand fear gripping his heart when he saw the gaping wounds on his father’s back. The cuts were deep enough to see the white of bone sticking from the mess, and Elgar’nan barely breathed._  
“I understand you are upset. These are not easy choices, Dirthamen. But sometimes we have to make hard choices for the sake of the many, and this is what we have to give up to save him. The dragon blood does not come cheaply, and I don’t want your father to die.”, mother’s eyes were afraid.  
He had a lump in his throat, and he tried very hard not to cry. But he loved his father, more than Kella or the baby he had never seen, and mother was crying. Dirthamen was a man. He did what a man had to do. He nodded.  
“Thank you.”, mother said, hugging him. But Dirthamen couldn’t bear her gratitude. He pulled away from her embrace, and ran to his tent, and wept until his head started to ache.  
  
Dirthamen doesn’t know how to do this, and he can’t say it out loud to his wife. She is feeling vulnerable, and afraid, and counts on him to keep her safe. To keep both of them safe, despite Dirthamen’s terrible track record. Because he can’t do this, he does what he does best, and ignores the whole thing.

_\--_

Thanks to Lord Elgar'nan's inability to keep his mouth shut, Felassan had a new job. He did not know who had put him in charge of baby department, but there he was. For last week, he had been practically imprisoned in a nice marble room with a white desk. His job was to sit there from dusk to dawn, nod and smile, and accept congratulations on his lord's behalf. Well-wishers brought gifts, which he piled to side table, and security people came to empty the table twice a day. They also questioned who had brought what, and gave him deeply unhappy looks if Felassan couldn't recall who had gifted the white onesie with narrow golden stripes. Those were definitely in fashion. Today he had already received five similar pieces.

Even if Felassan found baby items repetitive, and the muscles around his mouth were starting to get strained from smiling, he counted himself lucky. His office was nice and sheltered compared to other parts of the palace. Lord Dirthamen's valet was on edge of tears, because their lord had suddenly decided to adjust his body, magically adding consequential bit of muscle instead of lean and willowy look he usually favoured. None of his fine shirts or tunics fit, and the poor valet spent most of the day harassing tailors and breathing down their necks. Their lord looked much more military these days, and the sudden, striking similarity with his twin was disturbing to those servants who had previous experience of attending Falon'Din. Felassan privately wondered how Lavellan took it.

The rumour said that this unexpected change was because of Senris. Everyone knew that Lord Dirthamen hated Senris with burning intensity, and only thing keeping the man alive was Lord Elgar'nan's protection. But this was not Elgar'nan's realm, and several of Dirthamen's servants had decided to please their lord by coming up with subtle ways of making Senris' life hell. Nothing unwelcoming, naturally not, but the man's food was always a bit too salty or bland, one of his bed legs was a tiny chip shorter than three others to make it annoying, and the soap in his bathroom was prone to causing pimples.

Trying to figure out _why_ Lord Dirthamen hated Senris was a popular topic of discussion. Palace cook, the butler, the security chief and the accounting manager believed it was because the man had offended their lord with his bland silences and annoying mannerisms. Lord Dirthamen's valet, when he wasn't screaming murder at poor tailors, claimed that the answer was simple. Lord Dirthamen was jealous. He was a newly bonded man with a young wife he obviously loved, and everyone knew lady Roshan was a military type.  
The explanation proved rather popular, because the valet _would know_ , and it would explain why lord Dirthamen's shoulders were too wide for his old shirts now. The theory of secret lovers was very exciting, and everyone knew the Nameless were shifty people, the cook said pointedly. She did not like Lady Roshan because Roshan had infiltrated her kitchen, and even less after Lord Dirthamen had built his wife a separate kitchen and started eating his breakfast and supper there.

It was the gardener who ruined the tale, however. When the cook asked from the gardener if he had ever seen lady Roshan with Senris, hopefully in highly questionable situation, the man shook his head.  
“He comes to stand on the edge of plot, sometimes. But they never speak, or even look at each other. And usually it's because Lord Elgar'nan is bothering her about going somewhere, and Senris just follows him.”  
Even though there were people who liked the silent romance-theory, most of the gossips were very disappointed for the lack of extramarital activities. Everyone knew that if lady Roshan was not with her husband, she was gardening. It was more like serial production, now. The agricultural advisor had six people carting the vegetables to storage rooms and returning to fill the empty carts. The palace slaves were a bit worried about the plentiful harvest.

Felassan had eaten a tomato. It had been red, and juicy, and perfect in all other ways, but the taste made him think of his first kiss, and he suddenly felt wistful enough to weep. The butler claimed that he had seen the stable master eating a pear from Lady Roshan's garden just before he had stormed into laundry room and dipped the mistress of wardrobe in a fierce kiss, starting a passionate and utterly unexpected fling between the two. Shifty Nameless vegetables, the cook said darkly. They would be reduced to eating Nameless vegetables, with Nameless queen and Nameless heir.

The cook disappeared without a trace on the next day.  
“Maybe she went to cook for Viviel.”, the butler said, referring to lady Roshan's sister who lived in a prison built in separate part of the palace. Counting the months from Lord Dirthamen's wedding, Viviel's baby should be born very soon.  
“Likely.”, the valet replied, and there was no more talk of Nameless vegetables.

The new cook was a trade from Falon’Din’s lands, a bit shy boy who had excellent manners and no qualms about where lord Dirthamen chose to eat, or what kind of supplies he was given to cook. He baked excellent cinnamon rolls for the afternoon break on his first day, and earned the favour of the palace staff.  
“These taste very nice.”, the stable master announced.  
“Thank you.”, the boy said, peering shyly behind his fringe. “I think we got the recipe right, even though the butter tastes different.”  
“It is nice gesture to make cinnamon rolls for our lord.”, the valet said, attempting to encourage.  
“Lady Roshan thought so, too. It was nice cooking with her again.”  
The slaves looked at each other.  
“Were you two familiar before?”, the accounting manager asked.  
“She looked after me when I was little, in Falon’Din’s temple. Taught me to cook, and kept me safe during the purges.”, the boy said. “I was so happy to hear about my transfer.”  
The rumour mill started again.

\--

“Vhenan, apparently the new cook is our secret love child who was born in Falon’Din’s temple.”, Roshan remarked the day after her visit to Void. She studied a map, marking locations.  
“What a pity.”, Dirthamen sighed. “I thought that my people would be smart enough to understand basic genetics. There is no way two people as pale as we can make a coppery-skinned child.”  
Roshan merely hummed.  
“And they also think that you have gone through some kind of magical body modification instead of just getting fed properly. There are two camps about it, Felassan says. One thinks you are trying to appear more military to annoy Senris, and the other believes you are trying to seduce me.”  
“Don’t they have anything else to do than gossip about my sex life?”, Dirthamen asked, sounding irritated.  
“The life of a slave is limited that way. One must keep an eye on the one who owns their lives. Maybe if they were free...” Roshan suggested innocently.  
“No.”, Dirthamen decided. “I think I will just open a salt mine and send them all there.”  
“Vhenan.”, she said disapprovingly, marking another spot on her map.  
“All right.”, Dirthamen leaned over, sneaking a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “What are you planning?”  
“Planting rye.”, she replied. “Did you know a simple plant like that can cover a remarkably large area? The rye plant forms 115 new roots each day, with 119 million absorbing hairs. The roots grow 5 kilometres daily, and the absorbing hairs reach 80 kilometres further each day?”  
Dirthamen was not interested in rye, but in her map. There were at least twenty locations marked on it, evenly spread around his realm.  
“Are you planning a tour?”  
“The storage rooms here are getting full. I should expand.”, Roshan said.  
Something in her voice was a bit off. Dirthamen leaned against the wall, watching her carefully. He decided to test it.  
“Dearest. Do you have something to tell me?”, Dirthamen asked lightly.  
She flinched visibly.  
“No.”, his wife replied quickly, straightening her shoulders and fixing her gaze on the map.  
Dirthamen sighed. She could have written “I AM LYING” with scarlet letters on her forehead and it would have been less suspicious than her denial.  
“Roshan. You are a terrible liar.”  
“I'm not.”, she said, dipping the raven feather in inkwell again. The place she marked was clearly out of pattern.  
“I'm not certain if it's the fact that you wore a mask for centuries and never had to try to guard your expressions, or if you are simply bad at it.”, Dirthamen remarked as he forsook his place and walked around the table to peer at the map.  
“Tell me.”, he suggested.  
“About what?”, Roshan kept her eyes on the map.  
“Vhenan.”, Dirthamen shook his head. “You are hopeless. Just tell me.”  
He placed his hands on the table on both sides of her, effectively imprisoning her between him and the desk.  
“Of course, if it's more to you liking, we can play an interrogation game.”, he suggested.  
“Oh, stop it.”, Roshan huffed.  
“It could be fun.”, Dirthamen noted, pressing against her.  
“It was Mother.”, she slumped, leaning against him. “I had to tell her, and now we have a huge problem. She stole Senris, and--”  
“What?”, Dirthamen startled.  
“I know! I already sent Deceit on the roof to fabricate the Fade imprints, before Elgar'nan realizes he's missing and starts looking.”, Roshan wailed, clearly distraught. “I went to Void last night. Senris sneaked after me, and jumped inside portal when I stepped through. That idiot! Now Mother won't give him back, and your father is going to be furious about it!”  
Dirthamen grimaced. This was bad. Very bad.  
“Is there anything else?”, he asked.  
“Well, Mother ordered me to start war preparations...”, Roshan said, staring mournfully at her map. She measured the distance with her fingers, placing them on two spots the map. “If I start planting here today, in five days I might be able to explode Elgar'nan's troops if they take the fastest route to attack and march through the pass near Mananor. Depends on how quickly the rye grows absorbing hairs and spreads lyrium. Or if you manage to sell your father something from this years harvest, and make his soldiers eat it. It should work, too. But planting rye to mine your land would be strategically better solution.”  
She turned to look Dirthamen.  
“Just to be certain, I told the cook to serve stuffed eggplants to your father's guards. I've never made anyone explode before, but if push comes to shove… We _could_ try it. But I'm worried I might make your people explode, too, since they have been eating my vegetables for weeks. Do you have any theories of safety distance?”  
“Oh, stars.”, Dirthamen groaned.

\--

Elgar'nan understood infatuation. He had been a young man once, who fell in love a young woman with dark curls and a sharp mind. But this was getting ridiculous. Lavellan's gardening hobby had already taken over the back yard, and now the girl was planting crops on both sides of the road leading up to Dirthamen's summer palace grounds.  
The slaves had turned the soil with magic, and Lavellan was sowing seeds from a sack she carried. Her behaviour was not queenly at all. She looked like a damned peasant. With a curious exception of an armour peeking beneath her simple green dress. And Senris was missing.

“Do you have any results yet?”, he asked from Captain Nehin. When Senris had failed the report back yesterday morning, Elgar'nan had waited until midday, and then ordered his men to sweep the palace area discreetly with search spells pulling out images from the Fade. Dirthamen's wards were making the progress very slow, and many parts of the palace were simply blank.  
“No, my lord, but we have covered almost all the public parts of the area, and I've been wondering if we should comb through the private gardens as well. Especially lady's garden.”, Captain Nehin said.  
“Yes.”, Elgar'nan replied. “The garden is very likely location. Do it.”  
“It will not go unnoticed by our hosts.”  
“Knowing my son, he has known what we are doing from the moment Senris failed the return.”, Elgar'nan told her. “I would not be surprised if Senris' body was found drowned in a fish pond. Such action would not go unpunished.”  
He felt the anger brimming inside him. It was highly possible that Dirthamen had indeed killed Senris.  
There was the unfortunate crush to consider, and like all young idiots in love, his son was highly territorial. Elgar'nan was not blind. He merely had chosen to interpret the situations in the way most beneficial to him. Dirthamen's jealousy, even though childish, was not entirely uncalled for. One could not keep a slave by his side as long as Elgar'nan had kept Senris and not to learn things about him.

He noticed his daughter-in-law returning from the front yard with an empty sack. Elgar'nan was not certain if Lavellan could kill Senris. Not normally, he appraised, but who knew what the girl had gained from the dragons? Was she returning Senris' feelings? Lavellan would have much to lose if the paternity of her child was called into question. Bonds in Elvhenan were exclusive, at least officially. But Elgar'nan's empire was not a place for harems kept by a women, no matter what the Nameless thought of the issue. He would not have her betray his son's tender feelings.

Maybe it was time to bring the issue forth. Skulking in shadows had never been Elgar'nan's style. Leaving his spot on the balcony, he jumped over the railing and followed Lavellan who was heading towards the little forest separating the rooms of high-ranking guests from Dirthamen's own.

When he reached a spot where green pines grew, sheltering him from a view, a thought came to him. A spot like this could be where Senris disappeared.  
Elgar'nan stopped, and cast a spell, calling up the memories from the Fade. He would have time to catch Lavellan before she vanished again. This would not take long.

The vision he saw made him fall on his knees.

“ _You are mine, and I will call you Abelas.”_

 


	28. Elgar'nan's heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Eldest of Sun appears in Elvhenan, and his divinity is terrifying.

Geldauran opened her eyes when her tongue tasted something unexpectedly sweet.  
“I brought cake.”, her son-in-law informed, looking insufferably smug like the day when he had managed to blackmail her daughter into bonding him.  
“What for?”, Geldauran asked suspiciously, savouring the cream melting in her mouth.  
“Oh, I thought to commemorate Senris' noble sacrifice on Elvhenan's behalf. Terrible tragedy to lose someone like him. But personally, dear mother-of-my-beloved, I understand. It simply wouldn't do to let spies traipse around one's lair.”, Dirthamen said brightly, feeding her another spoonful of the cake.  
Geldauran snorted.  
“You are a piece of work.”, she whispered.  
“I know.”, Dirthamen acknowledged. “But Roshan likes me just the way I am, and I like my life much better without Senris. Since it's likely that you ate him, I thought cake might help to wash away the taste.”  
“Eating him would do me no good.”, Geldauran answered, closing her eyes again. “His blood is not ours. It is your luck, boy, that I don't want to extend my years any further than this. Eating you would certainly give me few hundred years more, even if you are no spring chicken.”  
“So that was why you did it.”, Dirthamen's voice was very soft.  
“More or less.”, Geldauran said, feeling the exhaustion wash over her. “There are ways to cheat death, if one knows how. Stealing days not yet lived from a newborn who has dragon's blood. Another option would be stealing a body of a daughter, but that requires a willing host.”  
She shifted in her bed, letting herself sank against the pillows.  
“The truth is, Dirthamen, that I'm very tired of living.”, Geldauran whispered. “I don't regret becoming the Queen. It was better than growing until I would have lost my form, and then putting up with those disgusting durgen'len parasites' mining. But the sacrifices… All my little ones I gave to you, and the ones I took to live. I miss my children, and I miss my sisters. My drakes. They are all gone, but I still live on, waiting to pass the burden.“  
Dirthamen was quiet.   
“Tell my girl that when I die, I want her to burn me. If I find myself in Beyond after my death, following the green waters, I'll have her hide.”, Geldauran finished. She waited for a moment, and then began to breath more slowly, faking sleep. With her eyes closed, it was easier to concentrate on listening. After a short time, the boy began to collect his things and stood up. Then she heard an unexpected clink as a porcelain plate was lowered on her desk.   
“I'm leaving you the rest of the cake.”, Dirthamen said. “Good dreams.”  
Geldauran smiled, still holding her eyes closed. A clever boy, indeed. It was strictly against the rules of the Order to impart sacred knowledge to anyone else except the Heir, but Geldauran had developed something of a soft spot towards her youngest daughter's mate. Even though his constant plotting and love of dramatics were trials to put up with, Mythal's boy did have unexpected kindness in him. For that, and for her girl who was so hopelessly in love, Geldauran had given him what she could give. She hoped it might be enough to trick the fate she had seen in the emerald waters of the Golden City.  
  
\--

When Roshan heard a sound of someone crashing down, she turned around to look. Elgar'nan was on the ground on his knees. His head was thrown back, and his face was twisted by expression of pain. She could see the glimmering tears falling over his face. Not stopping to think, Roshan hurried to him.  
“My lord?”, Roshan asked carefully, deciding that politeness would be the best approach. “What happened? Are you all right?”  
Elgar'nan's wet eyes focused on her face. Suddenly his hand closed around her wrist, holding painfully tight. The world around them rippled, and Roshan found herself staring at a very familiar face in entirely unexpected situation. Daern'thal, fucking _Mythal_. But how? When?  
“Who is he?”, Elgar'nan demanded, and she imagined she could hear her bones grinding in his grip. “WHO IS HE, DAMN YOU!”  
Roshan opened her mouth, and then shut it.   
“Let go.”, she said instead. “You are hurting me!”  
Elgar'nan's eyes shone through the veil of tears, and his magic was burning.  
“I know he is one of yours.”, he growled. “You set him up! You made Mythal betray me!”  
Elgar'nan's face was twisted with rage, and Roshan heard a snap with flaring, sharp pain from her wrist.   
“I did not!”, Roshan cried out, trying to pull herself free. “He was my drake! You must know that drakes are monogamous. He was mine, and I would not have given him to Mythal! I am as shocked as you.”  
Something in her words must have gotten through to him, because the world rippled again, and the vision vanished. They were in Dirthamen's palace backyard again, surrounded by pines and several very upset-looking elves. Elgar'nan's people had circled them, with weapons bared, and Roshan could see several of Dirthamen's palace guards behind them. She had excellent, even though very painful vantage point, because Elgar'nan was still holding her in the air by her broken wrist. Deciding this was not the time to play valiant, she screamed her lungs out. It helped a bit with pain. Felassan was standing among the crowd, and Roshan caught his eye. He looked like he was going to vomit. The man was truly not a combatant.   
“My lord Elgar'nan.”, Dirthamen's captain of palace guard said in desperate voice of someone who faced death “We must insist you release the lady. We have orders from our lord to see to her safety.”  
Elgar'nan ignored her, and his soldiers closed up their formation.  
“Captain!”, Elgar'nan gave the orders. “Assemble my troops. We are marching south NOW!”  
“South?”, Captain Nehin asked with wide eyes. “Mythal's lands, my lord?”  
Elgar'nan 's magic sparked, and pines in Dirthamen's backyard ignited.  
“I will judge her for her betrayal, even if it kills me to do it.”, Elgar'nan's whole body was shaking, and the naked pain on his face made Roshan feel horrible for him. But this was not the moment for pity, she reminded herself. She would not let herself die because Mythal had seen fit to steal Daern'thal, fuck him and mark him and betray her husband. Even if Dirthamen's armed forces did not measure up to Elgar'nan's standards, there were other ways to escape the situation. Her best option was not the one she would have chosen, but beggars could not be choosers. Her Unfallen training had taught her long ago that being shorter than her enemies was not necessarily a disadvantage, but a tool.  
Roshan tensed her core muscles and swung her legs sharply upwards, twisting her body explosively towards right. The motion tore her broken wrist, and made her howl with pain, but her legs slamming Elgar'nan right on the face was worth it. The attack took him by surprise, making him loosen his grip, and Roshan was running the moment her feet touched the ground.  
The pines were cracking now, and burning needles fell all over the garden, spreading the fire. She had no time for finesse, not with Elgar'nan behind her and his soldiers between her and the escape, so she simply rammed her barriers against the soldier standing in front of old, mostly decorative stone well.  
“Falon'Din enansal!”, Roshan screamed and jumped in. She smelled the familiar scent of iron and wet blood, and when her feet touched the bottom mere seconds later, it was not in the well.  


\--

Stars, emergency teleporting was even worse than she remembered. Roshan laid on her stomach on a soft carpet, fighting the urge to vomit. But she remembered the carpet. She was in Falon'Din's walk-in-wardrobe, and if she threw up here, she would not leave the place alive. So she kept swallowing instead. It was marginally better if she did not move.

Moments later, a pair of fine black boots stopped in front of her, and the left one moved forwards, pushing her. At least it was not a kick. She had expected a kick. He must be on good mood.  
“My lord Falon'Din.”, Roshan said weakly, pushing herself up to lean on her elbows. “I'm very grateful for your timely intervention.”  
“You'd better be.”, Falon'Din said dangerously. “I know what you did to Vunora. I do not look kindly at people who betray me, Lavellan.”  
“I know you don't.”, Roshan replied hastily, rising on her knees. “But this is an urgent matter. Your father has been visiting us. Elgar'nan just gave orders to his army to march south. We found out by accident that Mythal has taken a lover.”   
Falon'Din looked at her, and his threatening expression wavered, making way to genuine upset. It was strange to see him like that. Roshan didn't recall him ever looking so much like Dirthamen.  
“To confront my mother, or kill the lover?”, he asked .  
“He said that he will judge Mythal for betraying him. I fear he might kill her.”, Roshan told him. “Elgar'nan was crying. I have never seen him like that.”  
“And my brother?”, Falon'Din inquired, noticing Roshan's broken wrist.  
“He was not home when Elgar'nan found the proof.”, she said.  
Roshan waited with baited breath, hoping Dirthamen would come to get her soon. Surely Felassan would tell him what had happened, and hopefully before Falon'Din did something. She did not want to end up in the pools, or worse. Fear was making her stomach twist.   
“Mother's forces can't stand a full-scale assault. And you know better than trying to lie to me.”, Falon'Din said. “Heal yourself and get armed. We are leaving.”

 

Soon she stood between Shathor and Isenril, watching Falon'Din work the symbols carved in the frame of his private eluvian. Vunora was standing next to Isenril, careful not to meet her gaze. Roshan did not know what had transpired, but Vunora's dark skin had taken sickly pallor. Had she been a prisoner? A source for dragon's blood? Roshan's sharp senses could detect something off in her, but she lacked the frosty scent Roshan had learned to connect to dragons. Maybe Vunora had not turned yet, or Roshan had done something wrong. She wanted to ask, but this was not the moment to provoke Falon'Din.  
Donning the familiar black armour had felt disturbing, and Roshan was keenly aware of Shathor watching her from the corner of his eye. He caught her trying to stuff herself inside the armour in Unfallen barracks. He knew. Roshan wanted to think she didn't show too much yet – she prayed that the news had not reached Falon'Din yet -, but the gentle swelling of her stomach was undeniable when she wore just her undergarments. What was keeping Dirthamen? Surely he had returned from Geldauran already. Felassan must have told him where she had gone. But Elgar'nan… He wouldn't hurt Dirthamen, would he?  
Falon'Din turned away from the mirror, facing them. He wore an armour too, and held a two-handed sword.  
“Our goal is to enter my mother's summer palace, and proceed to her location. If you encounter resistance, kill them. Leave my father to me. He is not to be harmed.”, Falon'Din said crisply. “Any questions?”  
Shathor raised his hand unexpectedly, and Roshan tensed. Shathor was not talkative type.  
“Yes?”, Falon'Din asked.  
“It's about Lavellan, my lord. Her pool of blood is still full. If we are to fight our way through Elgar'nan's soldiers in full-scale skirmish, we can't afford to lose an edge. Our tactics are designed for four, and between three of us, can't protect both you and her.”, Shathor said worriedly.  
Roshan wanted to bite her tongue. Or scream. Frozen with fear, she failed to do both.  
“And why you are so worried about Lavellan's safety, Shathor?”, he asked.   
“She's expecting, my lord.”, Shathor, the bloody fool answered dutifully. “It's not a good for her to fight, especially without the pool. She should have it.”  
“I'm not going to take your markings.”, Roshan said hurriedly as Falon'Din turned to look at her. “You can't force me, and even if you do, they won't stick.”  
Her declaration of freedom didn't come out right. It sounded weak, and pitiful, and there was a tight coiled ball of fear in her stomach, freezing her veins. Instinctively, she retreated a few steps, and the Unfallen surrounding her tensed.  
“Come here, Lavellan.”, Falon'Din said. His voice was soft like velvet.  
“I won't.”, she swallowed, the panic radiating through the bond.   
“Come here, Lavellan. I think it's true. I could smell you miles away.”, he said, almost purring. “You stink of lyrium.”  
“I won't.”, she whispered again, her voice almost breaking. She knew she should fight, to run, but this was Falon'Din. Falon'Din, who had broken her fingers, and ruined her hands, and enslaved her for centuries. Falon'Din, who had battered her until she miscarried, and married her off to Solas. She could fight Elga'rnan, she could fight Natha, she could beat monsters but she couldn't raise her hand against Falon'Din. It was impossible thought.   
She was frozen with fear when he approached. His arms were wide, and her mind was in panic.   
_< he' goingtokillmekillme>_, she pleaded in her mind, unable to move even though there was nothing but centuries old obedience holding her in place. She looked for a dagger or a spell to see what her death would look like, but there was nothing in Falon'Din's hands.

Two things happened at once. The eluvian behind Falon'Din sparked violently, and the runes carved on the frame started to smoke. And Falon'Din closed his arms around her, hugging her. _Hugging her._   
“Congratulations, dear sister.”, he said, chuckling in her ear. “You are just frozen. With fear? Why?”  
“Stop playing her.”, Dirthamen's angry voice snapped as he stepped out from the eluvian, and then Roshan regained her self. She tore herself away from Falon'Din, and ran to Dirthamen, not caring how ridiculous it looked. Dirthamen caught her, and held her tight while glaring at Falon'Din over her shoulder. Falon'Din laughed. Roshan pressed herself closer to Dirthamen and buried her face against his shoulder, wanting to hide. Her heart was still beating too fast.  
“Why, did you expect something else but my heartfelt congratulations?”, Falon'Din asked coyly. “I thought you would be pleased to see me get along with Lavellan.”  
“There is no time for your cruel games, brother.”, Dirthamen said sharply. “Father has already left. We need to leave now if we are to stop him.”

\--

When their small party stepped through the eluvian near the dragons' former hunting ground in Mythal's lands, it was obvious that Elgar'nan's troops had already arrived. The forest was gone, and the earth was burning with fragments of magic. Water was bubbling in several craters left by a battle, and elven bodies littered the ground. The boiling water was high enough to reach Roshan's ankles as she stepped aside, tilting her head to listen.  
Isenril pulled out one the fallen from the geysir.  
“Mythal's.”, he said, confirming what they already knew.  
“Father must have lost it.”, Falon'Din said to Dirthamen. His tone was off, and he looked odd, again. Younger, somehow. But Roshan was still pissed off about earlier. If Falon'Din was upset, it was not her concern.  
She carefully walked across the ruined land, and glanced towards the palace in south. Not there, she thought. It would make no sense to stay where the attacker was going.  
Ignoring the discussion behind her, Roshan walked a bit further, still listening. There was something in the west. In the caves where Geldauran had lived with her young. Lyrium.  
She knelt down on one knee and pulled off her glove. Placing her palm against the ground, she focused.  
“Lavellan. Get up!”, Falon'Din snapped behind her. “We are not staying to wait you.”  
Roshan paid him no heed.  
“LAVELLAN!”, Falon'Din's tone was starting to grow angry.  
“Mind your tone!”, Dirthamen lashed out at his brother.  
Their argument ended abruptly when the ground trembled, and a tendril of lyrium shot out from the stone. It moved like a snake, rising to loom over Roshan.   
“Where is Mythal, sister?”, she asked in draconic. Her voice was commanding, and she stood straight, appearing regal. And the lyrium answered.

The song of lyrium filled Falon'Din's head. His mouth watered, and he thought he was going mad. The hunger in his mind beat with agony, and he was running towards Roshan and the blue glow even before he understood his feet were moving. He needed it. He would die without it.  
But Lavellan turned, and her eyes shone bright blue.   
“Stop.”, she said in odd sing-song voice, and Falon'Din just… stopped. Even his breath. He could feel, and think, but he could not move _anything_. The lyrium sank back under the ground.  
“Roshan.”, Dirthamen said firmly.  
Lavellan blinked when Falon'Din was starting to turn purple, and smiled apologetically.  
“Go free, I meant.”, she corrected absently in same, eerie tone.   
“Mythal is hiding in Geldauran's old cave”, Roshan told them. “Elgar'nan is already heading there.”  
“He must be using the bond to track her.”, Dirthamen said darkly. “We have to go. If he hurts her...”   
He shuddered, not being able to finish the sentence. It was known that bonded people who lost their partners sometimes went mad, or died from the grief. With time, the spell wound itself tightly around the brain, causing serious damage if the bond was violently broken. Those who had lost their spouses were never the same afterwards, and people who had the risk of dying, like soldiers, only rarely bonded. If Elgar'nan hurt Mythal intentionally, the pain would reflect back to him.  
“Let's go.”, Falon'Din decided, and called upon his magic to get there faster. He would not let this happen.

 

The area surrounding the caves was full of people fighting. Several Dreamer mages, too, and it always made things messy. Even though Falon'Din and Dirthamen wasted no time pushing brutally through them, it was still too slow. The Song was getting louder here. The melody sounded frightened, and Roshan wondered if the rhythmic, fast beating was Mythal's heart. She dived down, dodging a blow, and sank her opponent inside the stone until just his head was visible. The ground was thick with lyrium, here.   
Dirthamen's growing anxiety was making her nervous, even if she personally did not care about Mythal. But she was Dirthamen's mother, and Dirthamen loved her. It was reason enough to save her. Of the two, she would have said that Falon'Din was holding up worse. He was getting careless, taking foolish risks in his hurry to get closer. He was covered in blood, and at least some of it was his as he cut his way through the soldiers blocking the cave entrance.  
Then, without warning, something changed. The Song in her head started to waver, and the heart-like beats began to slow.   
“We need a shortcut! We'll never get there in time!”, Roshan yelled to others over the sound of fight. “Shield yourselves!”  
In desperate hurry, she pressed her hands against the stone wall, calling up the lyrium veins beneath it and telling them to burst. The magic exploded, opening a pathway cut through the stone Dreamers could not touch.

The stone rained around her, and she ran blindly to towards the sound of slowly fading Song with Dirthamen and Falon'Din on her heels.  
“You betrayed me!”, she heard Elgar'nan roaring. “I thought you loved me!”  
She could not make out Mythal's answer, but she recognized her voice. She ran faster, using blood magic to speed her up. Dirthamen and Falon'Din, whose Dreamer magic did not work here, fell a bit behind.  
“You PROMISED!”, Elgar'nan bellowed.   
Just when her magic broke through the last wall, allowing her into cave, Roshan saw Mythal fall. The Song faded, and the next beat never came.

Mythal was dead, and there was no sign of Daern'thal.  
  
\--

Elgar'nan looked at his bloody hands, and his silent heart. His head was in fire. Something bad had happened. He could almost recall it, but when he tried to think about it, he could not. It was too bad.  
“Vhenan.”, he called worriedly. “Vhenan.”  
Mythal did not answer. She just laid there, and there was an awful lot of blood. Her hair looked burnt. Captain Nehin was standing a little distance away, looking very shaken.  
“My lord?”, she inquired weakly.  
“Something is wrong with Mythal.”, Elgar'nan told her. “Help her.”  
Captain bit her lip, shaking her head.  
“My lord.”, she said, sounding tearful. “We should leave. You need assistance. You are obviously… injured.”  
Elgar'nan couldn't recall being injured, but there was a lot of blood.  
“Mythal.”, he called again, softer this time. She never liked it when he was loud.  
“Tend to your lord. Use your initiative.”, a new voice ordered sharply.   
It made Elgar'nan turn, and look. The dragon heir. It all made sense now. SHE HAD DONE THIS! She had hurt Mythal! SHE WOULD PAY!

“You will not betray my son.”, Elgar'nan screamed. “You will not hurt him, like you hurt me!”  
He grabbed the slave by throat, and held her up. She was much shorter than him, and her legs dangled in the air as she tried to breathe.  
“PUT HER DOWN! Falon'Din, you oaf, LET ME GO!”, Dirthamen howled, trashing in his brother's grip. Elgar'nan did not understand how his sons were suddenly there, but he would not let them distract him.  
“He will hurt you if you get between them!”, Falon'Din argued, holding Dirthamen in place with all his strength. His face was puffy, like he was crying. “Don't you see what father has done? I will not let him kill you, too.”  
“You stole Mythal from me.”, Elgar'nan aid, seeing the laughing face of a dragon in front of him again. “You ATE my daughter! And then you took Senris, and broke my son's heart, and..”  
His own throat was burning, and he was getting blinded by tears.   
“You sent your servants and forced her betray me! Mythal would never have done it, not my Mythal! Mythal.”, Elgar'nan's voice was more a cry than a scream, now. “You killed Mythal!”  
She was turning blue in his grasp, and Elgar'nan squeezed harder, when his son's desperate yell broke through the red-hot pain filling Elgar'nan's mind.  
“FATHER! YOU ARE KILLING MY BABY!”, Dirthamen shouted.  
Dirthamen's baby. _No._ Of course he would never hurt his son's child. Without thinking, Elgar'nan opened his hand, and the woman fell down.   
Elgar'nan looked at his son, who was still held by his brother. Then at Mythal's broken body, which laid on the ground. His heart. The broken bond ached in his head, making it ring with pain. He needed to have his heart back.  
Elgar'nan knelt on the ground, and pulled out a knife. He cut through the soaked fabric, and the cooling flesh beneath.  
“Father! What the fuck are you doing?”, Falon'Din demanded in shaky, upset voice. “Let her be!”  
“I told you he went mad!”, Dirthamen hissed at his brother. “The breaking of their bond drove him mad! LET ME GO!”  
Elgar'nan paid them no heed. The children did not understand. He needed to have his heart back. A man could not live without his heart.  
His hands were very careful when he wielded the knife, making cuts swift and clean not to hurt her.  
“I'm so sorry, vhenan.”, he whispered. “You should not have done it.”  
The slave was staring at him, trying to get up from the ground. Her face was deathly pale, and her throat was turning black and blue. She looked aghast.   
“Father. Stop it. Let mother be.”, Dirthamen begged desperately  
Elgar'nan pulled out Mythal's bloody heart, and the horrible pain inside his mind was lost under the rush of magic. He smiled, and held the heart against his chest. It would be all right, now. The pain was gone, and his heart sang to him.  
“I have you.”, he said gently. “It will be all right. Together, we will make Elvhenan great.”  
“Brother. This is your last chance to help me to stop father. He is mad.”, Dirthamen snapped at Falon'Din. “We have to do this, now. No matter how hard it is, but our father is gone.  
Falon'Din swallowed, staring at Elgar'nan. He looked faintly green, and very upset.  
The slave was looking down, but Elgar'nan saw the flash of blue in her eyes as she rose on her knees. The heart in his hands trembled slightly. She was trying to leave.  
“You must not go.”, Elgar'nan told her, and the heart flashed in his hands. The slave was thrown backwards through the air, and she hit the wall with a thump. One of Falon'Din's Unfallen caught her, and Elgar'nan nodded.  
“Father.”, Dirthamen spoke quickly, drawing Elgar'nan's attention. “Roshan meant no offence.”  
“Dragons hurt my heart.”, Elgar'nan said. “They sang to her, until Mythal went mad.”  
He stroked his heart gently, and Falon'Din put a hand on his mouth, gagging.   
“I think I'm going to be sick.”, he whined, and Dirthamen stomped on Falon'Din's foot.  
“Father, I think you should to go rest. I imagine mother is very tired after all this.”, Dirthamen said, and his eyes brimmed with tears.  
“Yes.”, Elgar'nan nodded. Dirthamen was good, concerned son.  
He frowned, remembering something.  
“But the dragons. I must hunt down every single dragon, and slay them.”  
He looked at his heart.  
“Your mother is unwell. But she will be better again, after we all become gods. A king is powerful not enough to heal her. But a god… A god could do anything. ”  
“Are you a god, now?”, Dirthamen asked carefully.  
“Yes.”, Elgar'nan confirmed. “But one heart might not be enough. You are my children. You must become gods, too, for your mother's sake.”  
“I don't think it's a good idea, father.”, Dirthamen said, looking pale. “Me and Falon'Din… We aren't cut out for divinity.”  
“Yes.”, Falon'Din agreed.   
“Nonsense.”, Elgar'nan said. He looked around, and then his gaze stopped at one of the Unfallen. The heart twitched, when he looked at the soldier.  
“That one is a dragon in disguise.”, he announced, pointing at her. “Falon'Din, you must carve out her heart and become a god.”  
Falon'Din's mouth opened and closed.  
“Father. It's Vunora.”, he said, sounding suddenly very young. “You can't ask something like that. It's _Vunora_. I will not give her to you.”  
Elgar'nan's expression darkened, and the thunder suddenly crashed in cloudless sky. His magic rose like a burning wave, and he was an inch away from burning his thankless sons into ashes when the slave slipped in his sight again. Her face was bloody, and she scarcely could make a sound from her ruined throat. Dirthamen hissed something at her, gripping her arm, but she wouldn't move.  
“Vunora is not ready yet.”, she announced hoarsely, holding her head high. “The transformation is not complete, and she is not a dragon.”  
She looked Elgar'nan in the eye, and added:  
“I would know. She is mine. I stole her from Falon'Din.”  
Falon'Din made a strangled noise, and Dirthamen lifted up his hand, deflecting his brother's incoming spell and freezing him on the spot.  
“You are deceitful one. All dragons are.”, Elgar'nan said grimly. It all made an awful lot of sense.  
“You will do it nonetheless, Falon'Din.”, Elgar'nan turned to look at his older son, who was breaking himself out from a block of ice.   
“What about Dirthamen?”, Falon'Din asked spitefully, spitting blood. “His wife is a dragon.”  
“Yes.”, Elgar'nan answered. “But taking his heart now would kill his baby, too. It would be too sad.”  
“Indeed.”, Dirthamen said quickly. “If anything happened to my baby, I would waste away in flood of tears.”  
Falon'Din snorted.  
“Be silent, Falon'Din. It is true that Dirthamen has been a very bad father in the past, but we must give him a chance to become better, like me.”, Elgar'nan ruled. “His godhood will have to wait.”  
“Yes.”, Dirthamen agreed. “I think it would be best for the baby if I took my wife and left, now. She needs to be safe. For the baby. And my godhood, of course.”, he added as an afterthought.  
“He will just run off in the Void the moment you turn your gaze.”, Falon'Din muttered under his breath.  
“It is true.”, Elgar'nan decided. “He did it once already.”  
He cast a spell, empowered by his heart. It cut easily through the shields his sons tried to put up. A chain of dark red wrapped around the slave's neck, and another end curved similarly around Falon'Din's throat.  
“Falon'Din, you will guard her. You hate dragons as much as I do; you would not sneak into Void in secret.”, Elgar'nan announced.   
Falon'Din did not look grateful. He was staring the chain in panic, and trying to tear it off with both hands. But it didn't budge. Naturally it did not. His heart was strong, just like his love to Mythal, and he was a god.  


The whole world would soon see his glory.   
  
  


 

 


	29. The broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins try to adjust to life without their mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked how Roshan appeared in Falon'Din's temple in last chapter. I clarified the details here: http://archiveofourown.org/comments/84040570

When Elgar'nan sent her flying against the stone wall, the pain bloomed like red flower in Roshan's mind. She felt a sharp, cramping pain in her stomach when she tried to get up, and she froze, too afraid to move. Vunora hurried to her.  
“The baby?”, she whispered to Vunora, pleading for help.  
Vunora knelt and discreetly spread her fingers against the metal armour shielding Roshan's body.  
“But the dragons. I must hunt down every single dragon, and slay them.”, Elgar'nan was speaking to his sons in the middle of the cave. He was covered in blood, and stroking Mythal's bloody heart. It was the most disturbing and horrifying sight Roshan had ever seen. She bit her lip, and tried not to move when she felt another cramp. Please no.  
“Are you a god, now?”, Dirthamen asked carefully from his father. Through their bond Roshan felt the hot tears collecting in his eyes, but his face betrayed nothing of the pain he felt.  
“Yes.”, Elgar'nan confirmed. “But one heart might not be enough. You are my children. You must become gods, too, for your mother's sake.”  
“You must leave.”, Vunora hissed at Roshan as the green, tingling magic began to sink through the armour. “They'll kill you.”  
Roshan fought for breath as the spell took hold, and the cramping subsided.  
“Now, Lavellan.”, Vunora said, and slipped her arms under Roshan's, pulling her up. “Get away as fast as you can and find a healer.”  
Her throat was so badly hurt that she couldn't make a sound, but Roshan stood up on shaky feet just in time to notice Elgar'nan was looking at them.  
“That one is a dragon in disguise.”, he announced, pointing at Vunora. “Falon'Din, you must carve out her heart and become a god.”  
Vunora's hand gripping her sword started to tremble, and Shathor and Isenril turned to stare at her, then at Falon'Din. They were at loss what to do.  
It was like a plague, Roshan thought dizzily. Elgar'nan wanted to kill everything and everyone he looked at.  
But Falon'Din's reaction took her by surprise.  
“Father. It's Vunora.”, her former lord said, sounding suddenly very young. “You can't ask something like that. It's _Vunora_. I will not give her to you.”  
Vunora let out something which sounded suspiciously like a sob. But Roshan couldn't stake her life on Falon'Din's strength of will; it sounded like there wasn't much left. Thunder crashed on the sky, and Roshan limped forwards. Dirthamen caught her arm, when she got closer.  
“No, gaidhalas.”, he hissed.  
“Vunora is not ready yet.”, she announced hoarsely, holding her head high. “The transformation is not complete, and she is not a dragon.”  
Roshan looked Elgar'nan in the eye, and added:  
“I would know. She is mine. I stole her from Falon'Din.”  
Falon'Din, at least, had enough sense of drama to attempt hitting her with a spell and distract Elgar'nan from demanding Vunora's heart. This notion of divinity was terrifying. Roshan wasn't certain if it was true. She knew from Falon'Din's and Ghilan'nain's drawings that they had planned to cut out Sister's heart and use it as a power source, but would it be enough to make one a god? Mythal hadn't even been a proper dragon.  
But.. What if she was wrong? She had been wrong about Daern'thal, too. Where was he? If Mythal was dead, there was no way her drake would be far off. Roshan looked around the field, and then noticed a broken body lying under a huge rock. It was near the spot where Mythal's mutilated corpse laid. An armoured leg was sticking out, and the pale skin was a bit greenish.  
“Oh, Daern'thal.”, Roshan whispered, and tears rose to her eyes. Geldauran would be devastated. This was her fault. She should have given him his wings. If she had, none of this would have ever happened.  
“It is true.”, Elgar'nan said loudly. “He did it once already.”  
Suddenly she felt a burning lash of dragon magic. Something red manifested in the air, slicing through barriers Dirthamen was casting at the same time, and then Roshan felt something digging in the bruised flesh of her throat. Falon'Din was screaming, and only when Dirthamen's magic wrapped her around like a thick blanket and started ripping at the thing binding her, she understood what it was. She was chained again. To Falon'Din. Her mind couldn't understand it. It was impossible. It couldn't happen. Not again.  
“Falon'Din, you will guard her. You hate dragons as much as I do; you would not sneak into Void in secret.”, Elgar'nan announced.  
_Please._ But the chain did not budge. Both Dirthamen and Falon'Din were trying to break the chain, but even with their combined strength, Elgar'nan's spell, empowered by Mythal's heart ruled supreme. She was chained again, just like all those years ago. A slave. Her child Falon'Din's property, and a tool for the Evanuris to gain power.

\--

“Decapitation?”, Anaris offered.  
“Not funny!”, Roshan was on edge of tears. She was standing as far from Falon'Din as she could, which regretfully meant approximately four metres, and tried to consult her Mother through Anaris. She had created a portal to Void in Falon'Din's bathroom, because her former lord was not in a state to attack through it. Judging the noise coming from the bedroom, Falon'Din was trying to shapeshift to break the collar, and his attempts were not successful.  
“I could try to burn it off?”, Anaris offered.  
“Go ahead.”, Roshan decided. She wasn't sure if having fireproof dragon form would help. If not, this would hurt like hell, but she had gone through it once before, and getting knocked unconscious was surely safer option for her and the baby than being chained to Falon'Din.  
“All right!”, Anaris said cheerily, shifting his shape. He filled the whole bathroom, and barely fit.  
“It's very crammed in here.”, the drake complained in booming voice. “I might burn something else, too. It's hard to aim when I can't straighten my shoulders.”  
“I don't care. Just do it!”, Roshan snapped. “Try to keep it to shoulder level. I don't want the baby to get fried.”  
Just to be sure, she cast a barrier spell on her lower body.  
“On third.”, Anaris announced. “One-Tw--”  
“Stop!”, Dirthamen pulled open the bathroom door. “What in the Void you think you are doing?”  
“Getting rid of this!”, Roshan yanked the chain sharply. Unfortunately, the gesture was immediately returned from the other end, and she crashed against Dirthamen.  
“By burning off your face? _Again?_ ”, Dirthamen demanded.  
“It's better than staying here with him!”, Roshan claimed.  
“I heard you!”, Falon'Din shouted from the other room.  
“Good! Then you finally know what I think of you!”, Roshan was beyond fear, now. She had been there for last three hours.  
“Are we trying the fire solution or not?”, Anaris wanted to know.  
“No!”, Dirthamen snapped.  
“A pity.”, Anaris sighed and shifted back to his small shape.  
“Roshan. Try to be reasonable about this.”, Dirthamen pleaded, trying to be patient. “Falon'Din is bad enough. I don't need you to act rashly.”  
“But it's Falon'Din!”, Roshan exclaimed, feeling desperate. “I can't do this.”  
“I think I should go ask Mother.”, Anaris suggested. “She will certainly think of something.”  
He yanked the chain, and Roshan heard a thump from the other end. It sounded like Falon'Din had fallen off the bed. The retribution followed few seconds later in form of a death spell through the door. Dirthamen dispelled it.  
“This was created by dragon magic, yeah?”, Anaris said thoughtfully, rubbing the chain between his fingers. “I'm willing to bet Mother knows more of dragon magic than any upstart god. I'll go speak with her, and return to you when we have figured out what to do.”  
“Just don't take too long. Please.”, Roshan said miserably.  
“Don't fret. You can always strangle the bastard with his own chain, or simply drag him into Void. My beloved would eat him for you, even though he doesn't look that appetizing.”, Anaris offered comfort.  
“Dirthamen! Are you willing to listen dragons insulting me in my own house?”, a muffled voice shouted from the bedroom.  
“Of course not.”, Dirthamen raised his voice to answer. “Begone, the foul creature!”  
“Whatever.”, Anaris shrugged and stepped through the portal.

Falon'Din’s bedroom was dark and silent. Dirthamen laid in the middle, and Falon'Din wept against his shoulder. His body trembled with each sob, and the accursed chain rattled against the silk sheets. Roshan was utterly still.  
“We need to get rid of this bloody chain.”, Falon'Din snarled.  
<Gaidhalas. Please.>, Dirthamen whispered through the bond, hiding his face against her. His heart was sore, and he was having hard time dealing with all this. His mother was dead.  
“I think I know how to break it.”, she whispered. Her voice was still hoarse. Dirthamen had healed her best he could, but the chain wrapped around her throat resisted all attempts of magic.  
“How?”, Falon'Din asked, looking up from Dirthamen's shoulder.  
“Dragon magic. If I change my shape, I should be able to break it.”, Roshan said. “The chain is made with dragon magic. Fire burned off my vallaslin. Maybe it would work for the chain, too.”  
“You would miscarry.”, Falon'Din noted.  
“Yes.”, she replied stiffly. “But if you are planning to hand my heart on a platter to Elgar'nan, I don't think it's going to make any difference.”  
“Nope.”, Falon'Din said. “We'll think of something else.”  
Dirthamen turned to look at his brother.  
“Why?”, he asked.  
“Because father is mad.”, Falon'Din said, yanking the chain annoyedly. “Didn't you hear what he said? He's carrying around mamae's bloody heart and stroking it and who knows what kind of disgusting things he does with it. Probably he even fucks it. He's stark, raving mad. I refuse to obey a man who killed my mother and chained me like a slave.”  
He blew his nose, and threw the handkerchief on the floor.  
“I hate the lizards too, but right now, I hate father more. There is no way I'm going to do this god-thing. It's fucking lunatic.”  
“I see.”, Dirthamen said, his mind razing over the possibilities. “But you understand the implications?”  
“Yes, yes. It’s going to be a war.”, Falon'Din replied. “But if you think I'm going to let them cut out Lavellan's heart and see you go mad just like father when the bond breaks, you're mistaken. I'll suffer Lavellan if it means the bond and your sanity stay intact. I still think you shouldn't have bonded her for first place, but it's too late to change it now.”  
“That's a nice sentiment.”, Roshan muttered.  
“Cut the snark, Lavellan, or you get to sleep on the floor on your usual spot.”, Falon'Din threatened.  
“The chain isn't quite that long.”, Roshan remarked.  
“I'll make do.”, Falon'Din promised readily.  
“If we could go back to talking about rebellion?”, Dirthamen cut forcefully. “We are running on schedule here. If father doesn't get over of his divinity obsession, he will appear on my doorstep next spring, likely with an army. We have two seasons left to prepare.”  
“You should try to recruit Mythal's people. She was well-liked, and her soldiers have no reason to serve Elgar'nan. I don't think he has necessarily thought of taking the ownership of her property.”, Roshan suggested.  
“Not bad idea. But I think it shouldn't be your doorstep. Everyone knows your army is crap.”, Falon'Din said.  
“It isn't.”, Dirthamen disagreed sharply.  
“Actually, it is.”, Roshan said hoarsely. “I'm sorry, but it's true.”  
“She's right.”, Falon'Din said. “My temple is easier to defend, and my soldiers are better. And Father will come to me. I was supposed to watch over your lizard.”  
Dirthamen felt Roshan reach over him in the dark, and touch the chain on Falon'Din's side. A moment later, his twin yelped.  
“Which one of you electrified it? Lavellan! What the fuck is wrong with you? I let you sleep in my bed out of pity, and you repay like this?”  
“Stop calling me a lizard.”  
“You used to be a good slave. But now you are just a pain in the ass. Should I pimp you off to Solas again, so you'd behave?”  
“No.”, Dirthamen said firmly. “Stop it, both of you. I can't handle you two bickering right now.”  
“Sorry.”, Roshan offered. “This is just… Difficult.”  
“I know.”, Dirthamen said, and pulled her in his arms for his comfort. And to make sure Falon'Din wasn't going to do anything foul while he slept. “A horrible day.”  
“It was.”, Falon'Din agreed. “The shittiest day ever.”  
Nobody had anything to add to that.

\--

Elgar’nan had not been interested in burying the dead. The task was left to Dirthamen. Falon’Din refused to be publicly seen in chains, and Dirthamen had left his brother sulking in his bedroom. Roshan was sleeping on the wardrobe floor, asleep only because Anaris had agreed to come through a portal and stand in guard. Her strength was sapped, and she was still afraid to be so close to Falon’Din. She hid it well with sharp words and aggressive jokes, but they couldn’t fool Dirthamen who felt anxiety and fear flooding their bond. Dirthamen dearly hoped Falon’Din and Roshan would not kill each other while he was gone. Anaris did nothing to calm his fears; the man was crude even on his best and he hated Falon’Din for imprisoning his mate. Dirthamen had left Deceit watching them, but the ravens’ information tended to be colored. Often it was hard to tell whether having demon birds’ information was better than not knowing anything at all.  
“Gather the dead and burn them.”, he instructed a group of Falon’Din’s workers. They had plenty of experience in handling corpses. “If you find any who are still alive, inform my healers.”

It looked like the bulk of Elgar’nan’s forces had hit Mythal’s summer palace first. The building was partially in ruins, and the fire had destroyed most of mother’s personal items. Dirthamen stayed for a short while in Mythal’s bedroom, collecting a few keepsakes for himself and Falon’Din. There was a simple necklace Mother had been very fond of, and an old book of children’s tales she had often read to them when they were little. A small painting with Mother’s likeness.  
He would have wanted to stay longer, but mother’s scent still lingered in her room, and it hurt too much. Dirthamen walked to yard, and his steps led him down a familiar path to June’s ugly gazebo in the garden. The horrifying monster of clashing pieces of coloured glass had been the place where he had first started to understand the depth of his feelings towards Roshan. He thought to bring her an ugly piece of glass as a memento. It might earn him a smile, even a laugh.  
But the gazebo was smashed, and the grass was littered with broken shards. Dirthamen looked at the ruin, and somehow it cut even deeper than seeing his mother’s palace. The whole thing; the whole attack was nothing but a meaningless destruction. Elgar’nan’s anger had not solved anything, and now Mythal was dead. Her people were scattered, and her realm was in chaos. Dirthamen had given orders to Falon’Din’s soldiers to secure borders; it was still unknown how many of Mythal’s ranking officers had survived. Dirthamen did not trust Sylaise or June not to seize the opportunity to expand. These were dark times, with dark tidings. It still remained to be seen whether his father would be satisfied with his accomplishments so far or would his divinity demand more.  
“It’s a terrible sight.”, a man said, approaching Dirthamen. “I’m sorry, honoured one. I came as soon as I could, bringing my lady’s people from the west with me. We heard the news only yesterday.”  
“Solas.”, Dirthamen acknowledged.  
“Could you… Could you tell me if it’s true. That my lady was murdered?”, Solas asked heavily.  
“It is.”, Dirthamen said, watching the ruin. “It was terrible.”  
“My lady was good woman. She did not deserve to die!”, Solas exclaimed fiercely.  
“In that, we agree.”, Dirthamen said simply. His sorrow was too new to give room to anger.  
They were quiet for a moment. Then Dirthamen bent down, and picked up a glass shard. It was particularly ugly part of deep indigo with bright red stripes. A smile, he thought. They had to start somewhere, even if mother was gone.  
“There are rumours about a god.”, Solas mentioned carefully.  
“People calling my father a god have been mistaken. There are no gods among us. Elgar’nan, despite his strength, is just a man.”  
Dirthamen considered for a moment. Falon’Din was right about the difficulties of their current position. A leader could not appear in chains and still give courage to his followers. But Dirthamen planned to take his wife and return home as soon as his father was dealt with. He did not want to neglect his People even if Falon’Din’s realm was more central to their fight for geographical reasons. And Solas was an intelligent man.  
“I have an assignment for you.”, Dirthamen said, making up his mind. “It concerns the treatise about slavery you wrote to me earlier. I want you to travel to Sundermount, in my realm, and put your plan of freeing the slaves in effect.”  
“What?”, Solas’ eyes were as wide as plates.  
“This model of government obviously isn’t working.”, Dirthamen said sharply, gesturing at the ruined gazebo and burnt ground. “My people are sensible. My wife keeps telling me that they could handle their freedom in small pieces. Refusing divinity will put me in disadvantage against many important people. I need others to count on. And if the people are free in my mountains, why would they want to betray me for a so-called god who killed a good woman? Do it.”  
Solas drew a shaking, deep breath, and bowed.  
“I will. Thank you, my lord.”  
“My lord.”, one of Dirthamen’s attendants approached him. “Felassan begs you to come immediately.”

Felassan was in charge of the healers, and there were far too less people in the tent than Dirthamen would have liked to see. A single section was separated by curtains, and Felassan peeked out from there as soon as Dirthamen arrived.  
“My lord. Come and see.”, he said.  
It was Daern’thal. The man looked horrible, as expected, but he was not dead.  
“How?”, Dirthamen asked. Roshan had mentioned Daern’thal was dead, crushed under a rock. Dirthamen did not doubt his wife’s judgement in these issues, but the man lying in a narrow cot was breathing shallowly. Daern’thal’s body was wrapped in bandages, and there was bland mush peeking between the strips of fabric. Dirthamen bent a bit closer, and he smelled faint whiff of lyrium.  
“Tell me, Felassan.”, he ordered. “How?”  
The man cleared his throat, looking a bit embarrassed.  
“It’s your lady wife’s vegetables, my lord. I thought – Anaris once said that dragons aren’t easy to kill because of lyrium. I wanted to make an experiment, since Daern’thal was a nice boy and he was already dead. I couldn’t find any lyrium, but your lady wife’s fruits have odd effects on people who eat them, including me, so I wondered if they had enough lyrium to work. I confiscated her sheets for bandages, and chopped up enough mush to cover Daern’thal from top to toe, and here we are. He is breathing. Horrifyingly injured, of course, with several broken bones, but… Not dead.”  
Dirthamen grabbed the man.  
“Felassan. I don’t whether I should kiss you or kill you.”, Dirthamen stated, his voice shaking.  
“Please, my lord, I would like to pass.”, the oculist pleaded. “I don’t..”  
“Shut up, Felassan. My mother.”, Dirthamen said in a hurry. “Tell servants to gather up every single fruit from Roshan’s garden, and few of her dresses. The green one, and the blue. I’ll buy her new ones. Come. Come!”

 

“This is fucking disturbing idea. I’m not certain if it can work without a heart.” Falon’Din said when they stood inside a tent Dirthamen had hastily ordered put up. The gruffness of his words didn’t hide the fragile hope in his voice. Mythal’s body was on the table, covered by a sheet.  
“It worked for Daern’thal. He is stabile now.”, Dirthamen argued.  
“If you are certain, it’s worth of a try. Lavellan?”, Falon’Din turned.  
Roshan stood in the corner as far as she could from them, holding her hands behind her back. She looked very uneasy.  
“Roshan?”, Dirthamen softened his voice.  
“No.”, she shook her head.  
“Don’t try that line with me.”, Falon’Din snapped almost violently. “It’s obvious. Mother’s pet was dead. D-E-A-D. Now he’s alive because of lyrium. Items _you_ touched. You can either try voluntarily or I will make you. And if you think Dirthamen is going to help you out this time, you-“  
“I don’t expect him to. He loved her.”, Roshan said in quiet voice. “But I’m not the Queen. I can’t resurrect her without her heart, but I can…”  
She bit her lip, obviously choosing her words very carefully.  
“But I can keep her hanging. Leave marks on the path. Clawing through the ages… That part will be left to her.”  
“Say it in elvish.”  
“A fracture. A shadow. Her soul will return in time. I can secure you that, if you follow my instructions to a letter. If you get her heart back, I might be able to do more.”  
The twins looked at each other.  
“It’s better than nothing.”, Falon’Din said. “Do it.”  
“Find a safe, hidden place. Fortified, and easy to defend. There should be a large pool of water, and volunteers devoted to Mythal. And Daern’thal. He knows what to do.”, Roshan said.

Dirthamen’s people told him that half of Andruil’s lands had disappeared in a flood. There was sea lapping the shores of a large island, effectively cutting Andruil’s territory in two. It was Elgar’nan’s work. He passed the news to Falon’Din, who grew grim, but they said nothing to Roshan.  
Their Dreamers built a temple in the far south. Falon’Din and Dirthamen slept, creating a sanctuary to shelter their mother until she would return. Roshan and Daern’thal worked in a sealed chamber, leaving the twins on other side. The chain kept Falon’Din closely at the door, and Dirthamen did not want to wander far. There was something wrong in the bond. Roshan was afraid, but she also mourned. The sorrow was stronger than the fear.  
It was a third night when he understood why. It was Falon’Din who said the words.  
“If lyrium can truly do all these things – raise dead, kill people, create chains which can’t be broken – why we didn’t know it? Why mother kept it secret? Why she”, Falon’Din nodded sharply towards the door “didn’t tell you?”  
“Because father is a god now, and mother died for it.”, Dirthamen said quietly. “It’s much harder to fight the temptation when you know it could be true. The dragons don’t trust us, for a reason.”  
Falon’Din nodded, and they spoke no more of it.

When the temple was finished, the twins carried Mythal’s corpse to a pool of water, and gently laid her down. Roshan dipped her fingertips in the water, and Mythal’s form dissolved, while water turned into familiar green of the Fade.  
“It’s time for you to go.”, Daern’thal spoke. He was grim man now. Dirthamen couldn’t see any resemblance of a youthful, eager boy he remembered.  
“Stand guard, Abelas.”, Roshan said, and kissed his brow. “Well of Sorrows is yours, now.”  
Daern’thal nodded, and the twins and Roshan left. The entrance was sealed shut behind them.

 

AUTUMN

 

 

“Lavellan’s up. Five to one that today he's finally going to kill her.”, Shathor suggested to Isenril.  
“I don't think so. I think she gained the upper hand after she started to show.”, Isenril rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But if you want to give your money to me, who am I to turn you down?”  
“We’ll see. He should wake up any moment now.”, Shathor quietly opened Falon’Din’s bedroom door a fraction. The Unfallen waited.

 

Falon'Din hated his life.

The day started like every damned morning these days. He woke up drowsily, rolled on his back, and then prepared to turn on his right side to continue sleeping. Then his bare thigh hit a wet, slimy spot on the sheet. Not again. Not _again_!  
“Aaargh! Dirth, you bastard!”, Falon'Din howled, suddenly perfectly awake. He threw the covers on the floor, and slammed a purifying spell on his thigh to burn the mess off. It stung, and Falon'Din cursed, but even a minor burn felt better than having the slimy puddle of someone else's semen on his skin.  
His pathetically guilty, still stark naked brother didn't even bother opening his eyes. The bastard just lifted his hand, and levitated the blanket back.  
“Stop making racket.”, Dirthamen murmured, burrowing under the covers again. “I'm trying to sleep.”  
“I've told you not to have sex in my bed! It's _disgusting!”,_ Falon'Din screamed. “I hate rolling on your sticky stuff, you lecherous twit!”  
“Can't help it.”, Dirthamen replied lazily. “She's too pretty.”  
“You still haven't gotten over the ear thing?”, Falon'Din growled.  
Dirthamen turned on his back, and considered.  
“No.”, he confirmed. “I don't think I'm ever going to get over it. And keeping her pregnant indefinitely will make father postpone his mad plans.”  
“That ear kink is disgustingly banal. I can't understand why Lavellan sticks with you.”  
“Because I'm quite good at sticking to her.”, Dirthamen drawled, giving him a lewd grin.  
Falon'Din had had enough of his twin's sexual innuendo. He took a firm hold from the chain around his neck, and yanked hard.  
“Lavellan!”  
The bathroom door opened, and Lavellan appeared, drying her hair. The tips of her ears had turned rosy pink, a commonly known sign of carrying a Dreamer baby. She was showing now, visibly, and much to Falon’Din’s chagrin, her softer body had not turned Dirthamen off.  More like opposite.  
“I almost fell on the pool stairs.”, she said in accusing manner.  
“Don't try that tone with me. I know perfectly well you can do a somersault if you lose your footing.”, Falon'Din replied. “I have an order for you. Stop having sex in my bed.”  
“This should be good.”, Dirthamen decided, and turned to watch the show.  
Lavellan considered for a moment.  
“No.”, she replied. “Did you have anything else, or was that all?”  
“What do you mean with 'no'?”, Falon'Din asked sharply.  
“It is not strategically sound decision.”, Lavellan answered coolly. “If I'm not happy, I won't produce lyrium, and I would not be able to continue fortifying your lands, weaken this stupid chain or to blast Elgar'nan seven ways to Sunday when he appears to demand my heart. Your bath is too slippery, and the carpet gave me a knee rash. So, it must be the bed.”  
“I didn't want to know about the carpet.”, Falon'Din said. “It was my favourite.”  
“If you decide burn to burn it, I know where to get a nicer one. Also, I promise not to tell you in future if we decide to try out other locations.”, Lavellan said, her eyes glittering evilly.  
“I think the desk in his study would be perfect height.”, Dirthamen said, blowing her a kiss.  
“No. Absolutely no fornicating in my temple.”, Falon'Din interrupted.  
“The kitchen garden? For old times?”, Dirthamen suggested sweetly.  
Falon'Din elbowed him.  
“Stop flirting with my prisoner. Don’t you have anything useful to do? Like governing the realm? Yours or mine, I don’t care, as long as you drag your ass out of here.”  
“Can’t your son do it for once? You never give me a day off.”, Dirthamen sniffed.  
“Nonsense. Tarlin is just a baby.”  
“A hundred years old with a baby of his own. Viviel gave birth to a baby boy yesterday.”, Dirthamen informed coolly.  
“Could be yours.”, Falon’Din shrugged.  
“As a reward for that, I’m going to fill my stupid temple with your portraits.”, Dirthamen replied.  
“You can’t!”  
“Of course I can. I’ve already told everyone that I’m ruling your people, too, because we are ‘twin souls’, essential parts of one divine being.”, Dirthamen said, making quote marks with his fingers. “Father’s lunatics just ate it up. He sent me a fruit basket because I’m obviously coming to terms with my divinity. And some baby clothes, but I told my attendants to give them to Viviel.”  
Roshan snorted. Her eyes danced gleefully, and she asked:  
“Did they like my deer story?”  
“Oh, darling, everyone loved it.”, Dirthamen smiled at her. “A touching story of young Falon’Din benevolently carrying a poor deer to Beyond so it could rest it’s weary head...”  
“Shut up, both of you. It’s weapons’ practice for you today, Roshie. Two extra hours. You are starting to look chubby.”, Falon’Din glared at her.  
“And you want to play with furry animals. What’s the matter with you, poor deer?”, Roshan mimicked and vanished back in the bathroom.  
Falon’Din threw a pillow against the door, but did not kill her.  
  
Isenril held his palm open, while Shathor disgruntledly counted five gold coins for his lost bet.

\--

It was few days after that when Dirthamen woke up in the night, and Roshan was not there. He turned around, looking for Falon’Din, but his brother was still sleeping on the right. Lighting up a small spark of light, Dirthamen followed the chain to Falon’Din’s bathroom. He pushed open the door, and then stopped. The other end of the chain was neatly tied around a small marble statue and there was no sign of Roshan. But there were few snowflakes on the floor, already melting. The bond in his mind was numb. So, she had gone to the Void.

Dirthamen didn’t know how long he had waited, sitting on the floor and wondering if he had asked too much. Dirthamen had never inquired what exactly Geldauran was teaching her. He didn’t tell her his secrets, and didn’t expect her to tell theirs.  
He had already fallen asleep on the floor when the bond exploded in his mind, and a portal opened. Roshan stumbled through it. Her hair was burned, and she no longer had eyebrows, but she seemed uninjured, if upset. When she saw Dirthamen, she stopped where she stood.  
“Come.”, he said, and opened his arms.

It felt good to hold her, finally. Without Falon’Din or the accursed chain rattling. Just him, and her.  
<Mother was angry.>, she whispered through bond. <I should not have helped. She thinks that you will kill me for my heart. If not you, then Falon’Din will.>  
<Did she hurt you?>, Dirthamen asked.  
<She came here and burned the chain off.>, Roshan said. <It didn’t hurt. But she was very upset. Mother told me that when the baby is born, she will make us return to Void. Whether I want or not. The risk is too great. She has already called all others away. I’m the last one on Thedas.>  
Dirthamen felt her hugging him tighter.  
<For how long? I should inform my people I’ll be away.>  
<You are not coming. Mother meant me and the baby. She said you can’t be trusted. She only let me return here because I argued I would be in more danger somewhere else, with Elgar’nan and others hunting me.>  
“Do you trust me?”, he asked quietly.  
“I try to.”, Roshan whispered.  “I love you. But Mythal loved him, too.”  
“I know. That is what makes it so horrible.”, Dirthamen said, and stroked the short strands of her burned hair. He kissed the corner of her mouth, and sought her lips, kissing her again. She kissed him back, and it tasted like tears. They made love in Falon’Din’s bathroom, and the feel of her hands on his skin was sad and sweet.

“I would not leave you.”, Roshan said, combing the wet strands of his hair behind his ears. Her touch was gentle, and sad.  
“You shouldn’t.”, Dirthamen replied. “I will come with you. No matter what Geldauran says. Or.. We will stop father, and it will be all right.”


	30. Mothers and fathers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is said Falon'Din's appetite for adulation was so great, he began wars to amass more worshippers. The blood of those who wouldn't bow low filled lakes as wide as oceans. Mythal rallied the gods, once the shadow of Falon'Din's hunger stretched across her own people. It was almost too late. Falon'Din only surrendered when his brethren bloodied him in his own temple."
> 
> \- the official version of the truth.
> 
> Sacrifices are made in this chapter, and nobody escapes unscathed.
> 
> EDITED 5.2.17: Please look at the end of the chapter notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a heartbreaker. I suggest arming yourself with wine and tissues. They worked for writing this, at least. I'm probably going to have a hangover next morning
> 
> For reading the battle scene, I suggest Main theme from Gears of War 4. https://youtu.be/CZb7HgRuorY

Her baby was growing heavy, now, rarely allowing her a full night’s sleep. For some unfathomable reason, the baby seemed to enjoy tossing and turning around in the middle of the night, waking up Roshan by kicking her bladder. Felassan claimed it was because the baby was feeling sociable, and infants often continued their daily patterns after birth. Roshan wasn’t very thrilled of the idea. But it did make awful lot of sense, considering the baby’s relatives. She usually had fallen asleep long before Falon’Din ceased prattling with Dirthamen.

She never would have thought her former lord was a chatty person. The annoying kind of chatty person, who got ideas in middle of the night and wanted to share them immediately. The Falon’Din Roshan had known had been much more formal, and much more threatening. Less talkative. Solemn. She knew, having guarded his sleep countless times back when she was still an Unfallen. Was it possible for a grown man to regress after a significant loss? Mythal’s death had hit him hard, and Falon’Din was clinging to Dirthamen. Roshan felt bad for that, but she really, really wanted to get rid of the chain binding her to Falon’Din and go home. Being in his temple kept her in permanent state of fight-or-run and sleeping in the same bed with a person who had killed her last baby was not good for her nerves. Dirthamen, bless him, acted as a barrier between her and Falon’Din, but he was often away during the day, trying to prepare for Elgar’nan’s inevitable attack. And locking herself in Falon’Din’s wardrobe was getting old. She had memorized every single garment inside his dressing room, played with most of his make-up – his colours didn’t suit her at all, and Roshan was not a fan of make-up in general. It looked good on Dirthamen, but she had always found it too much trouble to apply – and discovered a secret corridor behind the revolving shelf. She didn’t know where it went, because walking through would have meant dragging Falon’Din with her, and it would have ruined the whole thing.

The baby rolled around again, head butting her bladder, and Roshan sighed. It could not be helped. She had to get up. Roshan sat up wearily and rubbed her eyes. Maybe she should have laid eggs, instead. Dirthamen shifted in his sleep when she moved his arm away and she waited for a moment, letting him sink back in the Beyond before she carefully started to wrap the stupid chain around her wrist.

Falon'Din's bathroom was almost as large as his bedroom, cold and grandiose chamber of gleaming obsidian. Roshan was washing her hands in a fountain, when she felt a cold breeze touching her toes. She turned around, and saw the air ripple with a forming portal. Mother, in her dragon form. How?  
Roshan opened her mouth to say something, but she had no time speak. Geldauran had already opened her jaws, and flames burst forwards. Her hair caught fire, and the chain around her neck turned scorching hot. The metal broke, and fell on the floor with a sharp clink. Then the melted end started to crawl towards around a small statue of naked woman. It climbed upwards like a snake and secured itself around the sculpture's base.  
_”Come_.”, Geldauran commanded, and Roshan's limbs began to move against her will. Her hair was still burning. Even though there was no pain, she could feel the heat, and the smell of burning hair.

It was not the snowy drifts of the Void where Geldauran had taken her. They stood in the Golden City, and her Mother’s expression was harsh.  
“Why did you do it?”, Roshan demanded when the portal closed and Geldauran’s spell released her. “You know I hate it when you just… You can’t take my will away from me!”  
“You broke your oaths.”, Geldauran said, watching her with dark eyes. “You told them what we are. What we can do.”  
“Have you any idea what has happened? You must know. Anaris told you. Elgar’nan killed Mythal! He ripped her heart out!”, Roshan cried out. Her upset voice echoed from the gilded walls of the empty city.  
“You should not have told them.”, Geldauran raised her voice. “I will deal with Elgar’nan in my own time. The Evanuris are a plague which must be stopped, and my own daughter armed two of them with our secrets. You SHOULD NOT HAVE TOLD THEM!”  
The sudden influx of power was strong enough to send Roshan on her knees. It was like a wind, but she could feel Geldauran’s power tearing through skin and bone. She raised her hand, and let the glow of her magic shield her. Slowly, she got up, and started walking towards the great dragon, fighting against the lyrium wind inch by inch.  
“Mother. Don’t do this.”, she said, shouting to be heard. “I told them nothing. I only helped to preserve Mythal. Whatever Falon’Din and Dirthamen know, they have figured out on their own.”  
Gathering her power, Roshan brought her hands together, and released her magic. The blue blow exploded, and the wind died down. A few sparkles of blue, dying down, lit the dim darkness when the great red dragon slumped down.  
“Mother.”, Roshan said. “You should not a pick a fight. You are exhausted.”  
“You will stay here.”, Geldauran replied, barely able to lift her head up. Her eyes were just slits on her scaled head, old and scarred.  
“I won’t.”, Roshan replied simply. “It would be dangerous for the baby, and Dirthamen needs me. He and Falon’Din are preparing a fight against Elgar’nan, and I must help them. We will take back Mythal’s heart and then I will— “  
“Whose side you are on?”, Geldauran asked.  
“I will return to you, but now they need me. I promise.”, Roshan said.  
Something changed in that moment, and they both knew it. Geldauran, for all strength, was the waning star. Roshan had youth, vitality, and a child in her womb, making her the future queen. It was Geldauran who sighed, and gave in.  
“All right. You can stay until your baby is born, but then you must return home at once. Only you, and her. Your lover is not welcome.”  
A portal appeared, pulling her through before she had time to answer. When Roshan stumbled into Falon’Din’s bathroom, she could not shake the feeling of something gone very, very wrong.  


–-

The baby announced her arrival on the next day. It was a bit early, but there was no denying it. Falon'Din was adamant that nobody was going to give birth in his bed, so Dirthamen took his wife to Unfallen barracks and threw Shathor, Isenril and Vunora out, telling them to wait outside if they needed something.

As the pain went, she had experienced far worse.  
“Give me a number between one and ten.”, Dirthamen instructed. “One means slight discomfort, while ten is worst pain imaginable.”  
He stood by a desk, reading from a book he had hastily grabbed from the library. Usually, he would have employed the healer, but the healers working in Falon'Din's temple were generally better at making people leave the world than bringing them into it. And the mere mention of bringing Chosen Mathras in the room had not sit well with his wife.  
“Two.”, Roshan suggested. She rubbed her lower back, walking around the room.  
“Two?”, Dirthamen frowned. “It should be at least five at this point.”  
“I don't think the writer ever had her face melted off by a dragon.”, Roshan offered. “Of course, it hurts, but I've felt worse after a good training session.”  
He chuckled.  
“It is likely.”  
“However, I would appreciate a distraction.”, Roshan said as she felt yet another contraction turning her stomach stone-hard. “Tell me a story. Or sing me a song. I have never heard you sing, even if you claimed you could.”  
“When did I say such thing?”, Dirthamen asked.  
“When you followed me in the Void. You boasted on your talents in music, poetry and other things, claiming that you would fit well in a harem.”, Roshan said, taking a moment to hold her breath and not to grimace.  
“You should breathe.”, Dirthamen said disapprovingly.  
“You should help by distracting me. If you were less good at certain harem skills, I would not have to go through this.”, Roshan replied dryly.  
“You said it is still two.”  
“Make it three.”, she corrected, her voice cutting suddenly.  
“All right.”, Dirthamen gave in. “But it will sound stupid to people who are listening. Me singing like some foolish bard.”  
“They are Unfallen, they won't tell. And I will still love you even if you sing badly.”, Roshan promised.  
“I don't sing badly. It's just not regal thing to do. Kings employ bards instead of singing.”  
“I like you better this way. Do you know 'The Huntress and the Tree'?”, Roshan asked hopefully.  
Dirthamen sighed, and started the first verse. The things he did for her.

When the night fell, Roshan had given birth to a daughter. She was small, but healthy, and perfect.  
Roshan held her, and wept. Both for her lost firstborn, and this daughter, who lived.  
“I will protect you.”, she whispered in tiny ear. “I will not fail you.”  
For Dirthamen, the moment was bittersweet. He had lived through this too many times, heard the same words only to see them end in tears.  
“You should not promise what you can’t keep, gaidhalas.”, the words burst out from his mouth on their own accord. “There are dangers we can’t protect her from. You can’t control everything. We have a war brewing on our doorstep. Even without the war, there are hundreds of things which might go wrong. It could be attack, or accident, or simply a twist of fate.”  
Roshan looked at him. She was not angry, or even hurt, but calm. Dirthamen did not understand.  
“I love her, and I’m not afraid.”, she said.  
“How can you?”, Dirthamen asked, feeling uncomfortably naked. He knew Roshan had fallen in love with the child as soon as she saw her. He could see it from her face as she held the baby. He could not, and he felt terrible about it. It was not what a father should feel. He should be happy, and not to paint the future black with threats. But Dirthamen still could not trust there was any difference between this child and all the previous ones he had taken from their mothers and sacrificed for greater good. Watching this one, and the gentleness on his wife’s face, made his heart twist in very painful manner. It had been necessary. He had to believe so, or he would go mad.  
“We have to draw a line somewhere, vhenan.”, she said simply. “Not everything we take for granted is right, or fair. Someone must step out and refuse to do the wrong thing, like Falon’Din did a hundred years ago. My daughter will not become an orb for Evanuris, or be forced to live in Void to hide from them. She is mine, and she will live.”

 

In the Void, Geldauran waited for a night, and a day, but her daughter did not return home with her infant daughter. The Song told her that there was a new heir for the realm, and it would be her time to step down. But the Song could not appraise one’s character. It was the Queen’s duty to judge that, and Geldauran was no longer certain if her judgement had been true.  
She waited for one day more. But when the second day after the child’s birth turned to night, she could no longer afford not to act.  
“Anaris.”, she called.  
“Yes, Mother.”, her son hurried to her bedside.  
“Is Senris ready?”, she asked, forcing the sound through her chapped lips. “You need to send him to Dirthamen’s realm to bring me the infant. He was born three months ago, and has Mythal’s blood in his veins.”  
The shock on Anaris’ face was clear as a day.  
“Mother...”, he stammered. “I thought you were not going to do this anymore.”  
“If I only could.”, Geldauran whispered. “But I fear I made a grave mistake with Razikale. I think she was too old when I made her mine, too attached to her old life. Her heart is not here, with us, but with _them_.  A Queen must put her People first. The war between Evanuris is not her concern. But it is what she chose instead of us.”  
“I see.”, Anaris said in thick voice. “I will inform Senris. He will leave at once.”  
“Good.”, Geldauran said. “Also, order him to send a word to his former master, telling him that Roshan’s child has been born. The information must not be traced to us. I trust he knows how.”  
“Yes, Mother.”, Anaris said, and almost fled the room, unable to mask his upset.  
When Geldauran closed her eyes, she wanted to weep, but she had no tears left. Maybe, she thought, she had cried them all years ago, and had none left, or this was just the numbness from a fresh wound she had caused to herself. Geldauran loved her children, those born from her body and those born from her blood. But the Queen must put her People first, and it was the choice she had made. She would have to live with it, no matter how much it hurt.

\--

The baby was three days old when Dirthamen woke up to Fear pecking on his shoulder. The demon bird had brought a message from home.  
  


“Brother. Wake up.”, Dirthamen whispered, shaking Falon’Din’s shoulder.  
Falon’Din opened his eyes a fraction and gave his twin annoyed glance.  
“What now?”, he demanded.  
“I got word from Solas. Someone has broken into my palace.”, Dirthamen whispered. Lowering his voice even more, he added: “Viviel’s baby was stolen. Solas said she claims it was a black dragon, but there are no signs of anyone breaking in.”  
Falon’Din’s eyes opened fully.  
“All right.”, he said quietly. “You go to your place and rummage through her head. I’m staying here with Roshie and the baby.”  
“Thank you.”, Dirthamen said.  
“No problem.”, Falon’Din replied, and rolled over to other side of his bed. He settled against Roshan’s back, and threw his arm over her waist, securing her in his grip in very familiar manner.  
“She might hit you if she wakes up like that.”, Dirthamen warned.  
“Have you noticed how often she’s skulking around at the night with the little one or getting up to nurse? It doesn’t even wake me up anymore. And she’s not going into that bathroom on my watch. Never liked having a portal to Void in my bathroom anyways.”, Falon’Din said disgruntledly. He yawned widely, and buried his face in her hair. Roshan stirred a bit in her sleep, but didn’t wake up. She was holding the baby securely against her breast, and the child slept peacefully, holding her little fists above her head.  
Dirthamen looked at his sleeping family before he turned away, and left. Years later, this was the last moment he could recall with perfect clarity. The soft shadows in the quiet, dark room, the bone white lace on Falon’Din’s shirt, and the quiet contentment of his wife and daughter’s faces, mirroring each other in sleep.

“How do you bear it so stoically? Don’t you feel it’s creepy when he hugs you?”, Roshan asked from Vunora as she nursed her baby. She had woken up with Falon’Din hugging her, and was still a bit disturbed about it.  
“My lord loves his father. But I think he’s trying to come in terms with the fact that killing Elgar’nan might be the only way solve this. Falon’Din was always his father’s favourite. But when Mythal died, Falon’Din chose a side, and it wasn’t Elgar’nan’s. It cost him.”, Vunora said, smoothing the wrinkles on the fabric with a warming spell. “I think my lord is clinging to his brother, and by extension, to you, because he needs to build a family, so he could bear the thought of losing his former one.”  
Roshan opened her mouth, and then closed it before she said something offensive.  
“I didn’t think it that way.”, she admitted, stroking the baby's downy head.  
“Of course you did not.”, Vunora replied, taking another tiny shirt from the pile.   
“But he has you and you two have a son.”  
“ _I_ have a son. He does not.”, Vunora remarked steadfastly, straightening the ribbons on the baby shirt. “My lord is very fond of Tarlin. Falon’Din cared for him a lot when he was a baby, and played with him sometimes, but my son is his property. A man can’t own his own child.”  
“I could set you free.”, Roshan suggested. “Take away your vallaslin.”  
Vunora huffed.  
“You can’t lure me with freedom. What would I do? Everything I have ever wanted is here. I’m happy. There is nothing outside I might want. My son is here. My lord is here, and since you agreed to my request, he is no longer sick. I saved him. That’s enough of dragons for me.”  
“And for that bit, Elgar’nan wants to cut your heart out.”, Roshan said gloomily.  
“My lord already told him no.”, Vunora said. “He has it all under control. You shall see.”  
“You are kind of annoying with your endless optimism.”, Roshan muttered.  
“And you are a worried, sleep-deprived new mother. It will get better after things settle down.”, Vunora told her.

She thought of Vunora's words, and whether she should tell to Falon'Din about her meeting with Geldauran. Roshan did not want to betray her Mother, but she could not help but feel something was wrong. Dirthamen had left so suddenly, without telling her why, and Falon'Din had merely said that Solas had sent Dirthamen an urgent message about theft.  
Geldauran had fought her, and it had not felt like a mock fight. Roshan was too experienced in war to misjudge intention to harm. But still. This was Falon'Din. He had enslaved her, married her off to Solas, killed her baby, pushed Viviel into Dirthamen's bed… There was too much bad blood between them for her to trust him, even if Falon'Din had changed after Mythal's death. Roshan felt she could trust Vunora, but could she trust Vunora's judgement on Falon'Din being genuine?  
  


Roshan was still pondering the issue when she left the Unfallen barracks and returned to Falon'Din's room.  
“I released your mother and got her fixed up. Do you want to see her?”, Falon’Din asked when she arrived.  
“This was… unexpected.”, Roshan replied, feeling surprised. “Does she want to see me?”,  
“No.”, Shathor interjected.  
Roshan closed her eyes.  
“I understand.”, she said quietly. “Let her go where she wants.”  
“You heard her.”, Falon’Din noted sharply, and Shathor nodded, leaving the room.  
Hesitantly, Roshan put her hand over Falon’Din’s, and gave him a small squeeze.  
“Thank you.”, she said.  
“You are welcome.”  
Roshan bit her lip, trying to make up her mind. On the other hand, she was worried about Geldauran, and if she was planning something sinister. But Dirthamen trusted his brother. Otherwise he would not have left her here in Falon'Din's care. And Roshan knew better than withhold important information from the army commander on the eve of a battle That way only ended in disaster.  
“Falon'Din. There is something I need to tell you.”, she said hesitantly. “Do you remember when Geldauran came here and broke the chain, pulling me in the Void afterwards? I think she tried to kill me.”  
“What?”, Falon'Din's temper flashed instantly. “That fucking lizard?”  
“Mother was very angry because I helped you with Mythal. She felt I have given away secrets of the order. She shouted at me first, and then she attacked me. I fought her off, but… What will we do if she comes back? She can control me with a single word. I would not have gone to the Void now. They all have told me it's dangerous for the baby.”, Roshan said.  
“I didn't know that.”, Falon'Din said. “You should have told me before. If she can play you like a puppet, we can't count on you to explode the lyrium. What if she does it on the wrong moment and ruins our whole defence?”  
“Yes. It could happen. And if she is angry with me… “  
“Come on, Roshie. If she thinks you have betrayed her, keeping her secrets will only get you killed. I can't protect you from something I can't prepare for. And if you die, Dirth will go mad.”  
“Geldauran has been very sick. She's dying. She must either let me take over, or keep her throne. We fought, and I won. If she is going to win, she needs to get better.”, Roshan said, feeling the dread building inside her. Somehow it felt things were more real if she said them out loud.  
“To get better…”, Falon'Din gestured her to continue.  
“A Queen can continue her life in two ways. She can either take over a daughter's body. Steal it. Or if she kills a new born child, who has dragon's blood, she can live the days not yet lived.”, Roshan whispered.  
“Fenedhis lasa.”, Falon'Din cursed in low voice. “So, that's what she's planning. She thinks you betrayed her, and now she's already made her move.”  
The door was suddenly flung open by one of the Unfallen. Isenril, Roshan realized, in full armour.  
“My lord! The eastern eluvian has been breached, and there is an army marching through.”, Isenril shouted. “It’s your lord father, and all the rest of them! Andruil, Ghilan’nain, Sylaise and June!”  
“Fuck!”, Falon’Din jumped up much faster than Roshan would have thought possible. “You two stay here. I must see to my army.”  
“They are coming for me. It’s my fight, too.”, Roshan said, getting up.  
“Yes. But I have a different task for you. If I’m right, we have more in our hands than just father and all the rest of the Evanuris. And Dirth is not here.”, Falon’Din said, gritting his teeth.  
“You mean Geldauran.”, Roshan said. She felt cold fingers running down her spine, and the baby turned her head in arms, nuzzling her tunic in search of milk.  
“I want you to stay here with the baby and my son, and keep them alive. If Geldauran comes here, you are the only one who can fight her. I won’t let the dragons have Tarlin. If you let my son die, I swear I will never forgive you.”, Falon’Din’s eyes were bright and his voice was harsh.  
On that moment, Roshan finally understood why Vunora loved him. She would have given much to see the same determination in her husband’s eyes instead of doubts, and self-blame. But Dirthamen would come around eventually. They just needed to survive through this, first.  
The baby made a small noise, nuzzling her tunic again, and Roshan steeled herself.  
“Before you go, I need something from you.”, she said. A part of her felt unbelieving she was even planning to do this, but she was a mother now. She had sworn not to fail.  
“Geldauran will try to control me to obey her bidding. But it’s much harder control someone who is already controlled. Bind me to my pool of blood.”  
Falon’Din stared at her.  
“Are you serious?”, he asked.  
“I need everything I can have, if Mother comes for the children.”, Roshan replied steadfastly.  
“All right.”, Falon’Din said. “It will hurt. I have no time for finesse, and without your vallaslin, I have to do the spirit bind.”  
Roshan put her baby down in the cradle, and turned to face her former lord. Her hands were shaking.  
“Do it.”, Roshan told him, and grit her teeth together.

 

The sudden, tearing bind stole Dirthamen’s breath as he stood in the main hall of his palace, talking with Solas. It felt like claws sinking in his soul, burning and staining them. The magic bit deep, anchoring itself, and only then he realized what had happened. He had experienced this before, but from opposite end. He had never thought it would hurt so much.  
“Roshan.”, he panted. “It was a binding spell, like the one binding slaves. Someone bound her.”  
Anger burned on Solas’ face.  
“My liege. Permission to give marching orders for the army.”, he demanded fiercely.  
“Granted, at once.”, Dirthamen hissed, and forced himself to get up. His demon ravens were flying in circles over his head.  “Fear. Deceit. Fly to Falon’Din’s palace, and tell me what happened.”  
The ravens vanished in Beyond, and Dirthamen turned to nearest eluvian leading to Falon’Din’s lands. He could not wait for his men. Roshan needed him, now.

\--

Roshan had never liked waiting. It was worse than actual battle. She was armed, and armoured, and the doors to Falon’Din’s wardrobe and to the corridor outside the suite were barricaded. She had lifted the bathroom door off the hinges, because she wanted to have a clear line of sight in case Mother appeared there. She was acutely aware of everything around her. Starting from the all-too-familiar presence of her former lord and her pool of blood in the back of her mind, and occasional flashes of dragon magic flashing through her connection to web of lyrium-infused roots hidden beneath the ground. Elgar’nan must be pushing the attack hard, using Mythal’s heart to force his way towards the temple grounds. Falon’Din was letting him do that, because they needed to lure the bulk of the attacking army on the area where the lyrium was concentrated. He would give a signal, and then Roshan would blow them up. It was the only way to fight against a force much larger than theirs. And then, when Elgar’nan was close enough, she would use the fine control trained in last months and explode Mythal’s heart, taking out Elgar’nan, too. Roshan had not told this part of her plan to anyone, but she had decided it would be best if she was the one killing Elgar’nan. She had no familial feeling towards the man, unlike his poor sons, and Elgar’nan wanted her dead. She would rest much easier when he was gone and no longer a threat to her daughter.

Her daughter was currently in arms of her extremely nervous uncle. Roshan would have preferred to hold her, but she needed both hands free. Attackers would not wait for her to put her baby down safely.  
Tarlin was still a young man, almost a boy with barely a century behind him. This was his first battle, and he did not take well the facts Roshan had told him after barricading the entrances. She could not believe neither Vunora or Falon’Din had ever told the boy about tributes. How could they expect him to defend himself against something he didn’t even know to beware? Happy childhood was, naturally, a wish of every parent, but Roshan was a practical person. She was going to teach her daughter to defend herself as soon as she learned to walk.  
“Do you think the dragons will come?”, Tarlin asked, swallowing loudly.  
“I hope they won’t, but it could happen.”, Roshan said, checking her wards for any possible disturbances. Dirthamen’s presence through their bond was a bit stronger, maybe, than a minute ago. Hopefully it meant he had been alerted about the attack and was moving with his forces to scissor the allied troops. She could not talk to him without a line of sight, but it made her feel better to know he was alive and not seriously hurt.  
“Do you think we are going to win?”, Tarlin asked nervously.  
“We have to.”, Roshan replied simply. “Otherwise we all are going to die. I’m not certain how long Elgar’nan would be able to ignore the dragon’s blood in you or my daughter. If the other Evanuris are mad enough to go along with his divinity game, they might want to become gods, too.”

“They would… Carve my heart out?”, Tarlin swallowed again.  
“Yes. But your parents are not going to let them through. Falon’Din is a skilled fighter, and the Unfallen fight on his side.”, Roshan said. She thought it was best not to mention that Elgar’nan was equally skilled, and he had an orb. The boy needed all the courage he could get.  
“But… My mother.”  
“Vunora is the best of us. She can keep herself safe. I’ve fought on her side for centuries, and she never failed us. She will fight harder than ever knowing that it’s her life on the line, and yours.”, Roshan replied. “She will come home to you. She is your mother, and that is what mothers do.”  
Her baby was growing fussy, wanting milk. But nursing was out of the question now.  
“Hush, little one. Mamae can’t help you now.”, Roshan said gently. The child recognized her voice, and turned her head towards her. Her little face scrunched up, and she started to cry.  
“Don’t cry.”, Tarlin said, trying to soothe her. But his voice was not familiar to the baby, and she started to cry harder, wanting her mother. Roshan had never thought a voice could tear her so. Part of her wanted, but she knew she could not give her daughter what she wanted. It was better to be hungry than dead.  
She started to pull away her silverite glove to stroke the baby’s back, but then her wards rippled with cold. A portal was forming in the bathroom. It was Mother. She could feel it.  
“To the garden. NOW!”, she roared, and hit her armoured hand through the glass doors leading to Falon’Din’s garden of blood. Tarlin scrambled up, his eyes wide with terror, and barely remembered to shield himself before pushing through the broken glass. Roshan drew the last line on the rune of creeping death – a poison spell she had inscribed on the floor tiles during last three hours – and ran after them, never once looking back.  


The place she had chosen for her fight was in Falon’Din’s garden of blood. It was not far from the temple gates or the great hall, where Falon’Din would make his stance. Hopefully the troops would never get that far.  There was a little island in Falon’Din’s lake of blood, with only a narrow ledge leaving to shore. It was there where Roshan waited, blocking the way.  
Behind her, she could hear her daughter crying. And Tarlin was weeping too. His sobs were silent and frightened. Roshan gripped her blade, trying to breath evenly. And then she saw her mother slowly climbing through the broken glass window of Falon’Din’s bedroom. A desperation filled her mind. It was true. It was truly happening. She had never wanted this. Please. Not Mother. Roshan loved her. But she would not let her do this.

She hoped against all hope that she had been wrong. That they had been wrong, and all this was just misunderstanding. But when Geldauran got closer, and Roshan saw the change in her, she understood with terrible clarity that she had been right. Geldauran no longer moved with the slowness and the pain of an old woman. There was a spring in her step, and the deep lines on her face were replaced by smooth skin. She looked no older than Vunora, and Roshan knew what her mother had done.  
“You took her child.”, she said, and her hands trembled with anger and hurt. “You killed my sister’s child. How could you do it to her? Viviel had no part of this.”  
“I did what I had to.”, Geldauran replied. “I would tell that I’m sorry, but we both know there are no words to make this right. Not what I did, and not what I came here to do.”  
“Why?”, Roshan demanded, tasting the brittle taste of betrayal in her mouth. “Why, Mother? You were my mother. I love you.”  
Geldauran’s expression flinched with pain before she collected herself and said firmly:  
“You betrayed the Order. This is your last chance to come back. Give me the boy, and the girl, and come home with me. I can’t trust you to lead us if your heart belongs to our enemy. It was a mistake to let you do this. To make that peace treaty, and bond. If I had never allowed you to leave, the Evanuris would not have stolen our power, and our secrets would still be safe. It was my mistake, and I will fix it. Come home with me.”  
Geldauran offered hand, almost pleading.  
“Come home with me, and I will make it right. Give me the boy, and the girl. I need them. I can’t die now. I made a mistake, thinking I could let go. You are no ready.”  
“They are not my enemies. They are children.”, Roshan said, shaking with rage and hurt and fury. “I will not be a Queen who kills innocent children, and ascends on her throne over a garden of bones. This must stop. It is not worth it. Nothing is worth all that death.”  
“Are you absolutely certain this is this your final answer?”, Geldauran asked. “That you will not come home, and be my Heir, and serve your People as their Queen?”  
“No. Not if the price is their lives.”  
“Very well.”, Geldauran said, and closed eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, they were shining lyrium blue.  
“If you try to take her, Mother, I will fight you.”, Roshan said in shaking voice. “I will fight you every step on the way, and kill you if I have to. But you will not have my daughter.”  
“How?”, Geldauran asked. She closed her fingers, and the ground shook when Roshan’s lyrium traps went off, all at once. The explosion lit up the sky behind Falon'Din's garden with blue glow, and the boom made Roshan's ears ring. Her baby started to cry, but the noise coming from the wounded defenders overwhelmed her small voice. This was not supposed to happen. Not like this.  
“Any way I must.”, Roshan said. Keeping her eyes on Geldauran, she tensed her muscles, preparing to jump, but then she heard something very wrong behind her. A cry suddenly cut short. Roshan turned to look, and the vision she saw would never leave her. Her baby was no longer there. She _was_ no longer. There was nothing left of her daughter but a bloody little shirt laying on the sand and a line of red mist flowing towards Geldauran. Tarlin’s armour and his tunic were dissolving into dust under her very eyes.  
“I’m sorry.”, Geldauran said, shining with youth and fresh power but Roshan didn’t, couldn’t take it. She screamed like an animal, howling for her pain and her broken heart. She lost her shape and moved to kill.

 

 

The explosion came too soon. It took out temple defenders who had not yet retreated, leaving an opening for Andruil’s forces. Dirthamen, who was commanding the troops on area, was taken a prisoner on the battlefield, only survivor among the dead. He was marched to his father, who stood with Sylaise.  
“You should have done it.”, Elgar’nan said, watching his bloody and wounded son. “I only mean what is best for you. I have always meant what is best for you.”  
It had taken a sword through his stomach before Dirthamen was pacified. The stomach wounds killed slowly. They would heal him, of course, but not yet.  
  
Elgar’nan watched impassively as his men seized his son, and held him against his will. He was strong, of course, but not yet strong enough to fight a god. In the end, Elgar’nan had to hold him in place with his heart so he would be a good son and accept help. Sylaise held his nose shut, and made him swallow a potion she had prepared. Elgar’nan was not a cruel man. When Sylaise had carefully suggested that drugging Dirthamen would ease him through the ascension, he had understood the validity of her advice. Killing one’s bonded partner would hurt. Elgar’nan could vaguely recall feeling so hurt before he had his heart again. He didn’t wish the same pain upon his son. Dirthamen needed to be well to care for his new daughter. Elgar’nan knew it would be hard for someone so little to lose her mother, but it was better to do this now, before the child was old enough to miss her. Sacrifices had to be made, even if they were sad. His sons needed to understand that only gods could make Mythal better again. Thankless boys, they were. Fighting him like this.  
“It’s done.”, Sylaise said, and Elgar’nan nodded. It was time to do this.  
“Andruil. Gather the others and go to persuade Falon’Din. I will come to you as soon as this is finished.”, he gave the order. “Sylaise, you come with us.”

“I swear, father, you will not--”, Dirthamen stumbled forwards, his hands chained in front of him.  
Elgar'nan ignored him.  
“Father, no. _Please._ ”, he begged desperately, but Elgar'nan pushed open the door to Falon'Din's bedroom. His face was like carved stone, and his eyes were focused on finding his prey.  
“Lavellan? Are you here?”, Elgar’nan called.  
The chamber was empty. The floor was covered in drops of blood, and black grime. Elgar’nan noticed an empty cradle next to bed. Everything else was in shambles. The windows were broken, and there were marks of fire on the walls. Elgar'nan stepped over a broken chair and turned to ask Dirthamen.  
“Where is your wife?”, he asked.  
The bond was slick in Dirthamen's drugged mind. It slipped between his fingers, and he could not hold it, not even feel it. It was suddenly gone. He looked around the chaos, and could not understand what had happened.  
“ _Please_.”, he whispered, unable to remember why. He only knew it was of utmost importance. His mind was sluggish and foggy. The only feeling getting through to him was a terrible sense of urgency.  
“This way.”, Sylaise urged, nodding towards a broken glass door leading to Falon'Din's garden of blood.  


They followed the trail to Falon'Din's garden of blood. The air was heavy with smoke, and traces of magic. The trees were blackened, or burnt, or simply broken in half. The ground itself was torn. On several spots where the tears were deep, Sylaise could see the lyrium veins glowing eerie blue against the red sand.  
“Stop.”, Elgar’nan said suddenly. The heart he held, carefully preserved in a golden sphere June had built for him, was glowing. Sylaise stopped, holding Dirthamen’s arm. He was barely aware of his surroundings, and in no condition to fight.  
They stood still, unmoving, as a great red dragon rose on the sky. It was bleeding from several horrible wounds, and flying towards a portal on the sky. The blood steamed when it fell on the ground, making the lyrium veins sizzle. Under Sylaise’s horrified gaze, they turned from bright blue to deep red.  
“It’ s no use.”, Elgar’nan sighed, sounding angry, and defeated. “I must see to Falon’Din. He must, at least, do this for Mythal.”  
Sylaise had no idea what he was saying, and she turned to ask, but Elgar’nan was already striding back into temple, while Dirthamen had chosen opposite direction. He was staggering towards the pool of blood. Cursing out loud in very unladylike manner, Sylaise chose to hurry after Dirthamen.

When the smoke cleared, and she saw the broken body of a woman thrown on the edge of pool of blood, Sylaise understood. Her eyes filled with tears. Of course. This was what had called Dirthamen here.

Dirthamen fell on his knees and started crawl towards Lavellan's body, inch by inch. His progress was painstakingly slow, and left a trail of blood on the ground. Sylaise listened Dirthamen's short, labouring breaths, cut by a trembling hiss of pain, and she felt sick.  
“Gaidhalas.”, Dirthamen called, falling next to Lavellan.  
She didn't answer. Of course, she did not. Someone had ripped her heart out, and there was blood everywhere. There was no sign of their child.  
“Roshan.”, Dirthamen called again, pulling the bloody corpse in his embrace. “My heart.”  
“I’m...”, Sylaise tried, but couldn't think what to say. That she was sorry?  
Dirthamen lifted his hand, and stroked the matted red hair gently. His fingers turned copper with fresh blood, but Sylaise didn't think Dirthamen even noticed.  
“Wife.”, Dirthamen whispered. “Please wake up.”  
Even though Sylaise had done her best trying to save Dirthamen's sanity, her potion was not enough to shield him from grief. The lovers' bond mirrored emotions and thoughts. It was not uncommon for the remaining partner to choose uthenera after their lover passed away, instead of continuing life with a torn bond echoing in their mind.   
“Your wound. I have to heal you.”, Sylaise said, taking a step closer.  As she moved, a blue, shining barrier sprang into place between him and Dirthamen, stopping her.  
“No.”, Dirthamen said in resolute, tired voice. He closed his eyes, laying his head down on the pool of cooling blood like it was the softest of pillows, and pressed his face against Roshan's shoulder. With every breath he took, his skin turned a bit paler.  Alarmed, Sylaise turned her remaining strength to batter the barrier, but she couldn't break through the blue glow.  
“If you won't allow me to heal you, you will die.”  
“Your new world order does not have a room for love like mine. I find myself unwilling to live in a world without miracles.”, Dirthamen whispered.  
“You there!”, Sylaise turned to look at nearest soldier. “Go tell Elgar'nan that Dirthamen is _dying,_ and he needs to get here at once!”, Sylaise shouted on the top of her lungs. “NOW!”  
The woman scrambled to run, and Sylaise gritted her teeth together, continuing to trash the barrier.  
“Stop it, listen to me and stop it!”, she demanded from Dirthamen. “You can't give up now! This is just one of your horrible dramatic tricks!”  
But Dirthamen didn't answer. His face had drained from all colour, and the only sign betraying the fading spark of life inside him were tears slowly falling behind his closed eyelids. They shone lyrium blue as they fell on Lavellan's shoulder.  
“You are a father, you idiot. The baby is still here somewhere, and Elgar'nan is looking for it. You have people to live for. Your child and your family and _me_!”, Sylaise screamed, beating the barrier with her fists, now.  “You can't just curl up and die. No matter how badly it hurts, you can't.”  
Her pleas had no effect.  Falon'Din's temple grounds were burning, and smoke rising from the ruined buildings filled the air, staining everything with black soot. It looked like darkness had descended upon them, and the only colour left was red. Sylaise's calls for help drowned in the screams of dying soldiers fighting for their lives, even though the battle was already lost. The realm was overrun, and the Evanuris had won, but on what price? The ground was soaked with blood, and Sylaise wondered if Dirthamen had been right. All births were bloody. But this birth of a new world was not something she had wanted. Not at the cost of his life.  
Sylaise raised her voice for the last time.  
“HELP!”, she screamed.

Through the smoke, she heard someone approaching from the direction of the temple. Heavy steps, a clink from an armour, and then a stench of blood. Falon'Din stepped out from the smoke-filled field, and he held a bloody heart in his hands. His face was still like a carved statue when he wordlessly lifted the heart of a dragon and destroyed Dirthamen's barrier with a single look. The blood around Dirthamen started to flow backwards, obeying the will of his brother. With a sharp wave of his hand, Falon'Din tore Lavellan's corpse away from Dirthamen and dropped her into the pool. A splash of blood wet Dirthamen's face as she vanished under the surface. His body shook violently, and the damaged flesh began to knit back together.  
“You should not have killed Vunora. No matter what father did or said.”, Dirthamen whispered brokenly when Falon'Din knelt next to him.  
“You would have died. We came into world together, and you must not leave without me.”, Falon'Din said. His fingers were stained with blood when he gently touched Dirthamen's face, closing his eyes.  
“Go to uthenera, brother. Sleep and wake up on a better day.”, Falon'Din said, and the sound of his voice sent shivers down Sylaise' spine. It was the song of dragon's heart, and a voice of a god.


	31. A sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE 5.4.17: The sequel "Guardian of the Fallen Empire" is up now on AO3.

EDIT 5.4.17: The sequel ["Guardian of the Fallen Empire"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10549652) is up now on AO3.

\--

After careful consideration, I decided to delete the last two chapters and finish the story with chapter 30, where Falon'Din's rebellion was squashed by Evanuris.

There are two reasons for that. First, I'm not a fan of unbreakable plot-armours. Dirthamen and Roshan knew there was a very real chance that their attempt to change the world might fail, and they wouldn't make it.

The second reason is far less reasonable. I'm thinking of writing another history story, and if I decide to do it, it will be another 30 - 40 chapters, and Roshan needs to be dead at the beginning. The story starts two hours after Solas creates the Veil, and the world is burning. Evanuris are sleeping behind the mirror in the Golden City, and the dragons are imprisoned under the ground, waiting for Blight to claim them.

Except two dragons, who wake up in their glorious tomb when the world is falling into pieces around them. Because it's the Order's job to fix the world, and being dead is no excuse.

Mythal and Roshan tag-teaming through the eons of history. Getting caught by humans when Arlathan is sunk under the the ground. Seeing the People enslaved, and turning mortal, and the magisters stealing what was left of their world. Blights erupting, and their brethren turning into Archdemons. Roshan taking the role of Shartan, and Mythal reminding her what happened last time she tried that. She's her mother-in-law. Of course she knows best. Especially when Roshan gets killed again when Andraste is defeated and Mythal says that next time they are doing it her way. Mythal creates Chantry, and when it backfires with the Exalted March to the Dales, Roshan gives her a sideways look because religion was what ruined their Empire last time!  
With the help of their faithful sentinels, Roshan and Mythal bicker and argue their way through the centuries, raising hordes of witch-daughters, tweaking history, and trying to put things back in the way they were while saving the souls of Old Gods. Until the day Fen'Harel finally wakes up, and there is a hole in the sky.

 

The DA fandom has been getting very quiet, since it's been so long with no news of DA4. Therefore I'm not certain if there would be interest for such a story. Drop me a comment and let me know. 30 - 40 chapter story takes me almost a year to write on weekly schedule, so I'd like to know what you think of it before deciding whether to do it.

 

 


End file.
